Our Father Who Art In Heaven

My Dad gave me a few good things that turned out to greatly influence the way I have lived my life. He gave me a baseball glove for my birthday, and I played ball aggressively for most of my life, before finally slowing down and playing the much gentler game of ice hockey, here in my old age.

When I was six years old, I was standing next to him at a checkout lane, and there was this cool display of record albums featuring an LP called The Chipmunks Sing The Beatles Hits. My brother and I already knew about the Beatles from their ABC-TV cartoon show, and the various songs we got to hear on the radio. They were cool! But to actually own Beatles music and play it whenever I wanted -- now that would be way cool. (Never mind that it was the Chipmunks -- hey, I was six!) So, I asked my Dad if he would buy it. I never expected him to say "OK"! He put it on the conveyor belt and out of Arlan's Department store we walked. From that moment on, music has been my obsession! I live, sleep and drink Beatles, to this day.

There's a bigger gift Dad gave me, though. Even as a youngster, I asked a LOT of questions. I asked people so many questions they were absolutely annoyed. I'd be frequently met with exclamations of "Stop asking so many questions!" Adults told me to simply sit and be quiet. I could not understand that, for the life of me. Why would anyone not want me to know the wonders of the world, how things worked, and why people behaved the way they do? I told Dad about my frustration with this, and he had just the right words for me. He said, "You can ask all the questions you want. If you don't get an answer, ask me, and I'll tell you if I can." I took it to heart. I still ask a lot of questions.

Thanks, Dad.