Happy Father's Day, Tom

I never knew my dad very well. He was very ill when I was a kid and, even though I was 21 when he passed away, he never did get better and spent most of the time I knew him in various hospitals.

But I was lucky enough to have somebody involve me in the Big Brother program. I don't remember much about the first BB I had (his name was Tony and I have a picture of him but that's about it) but the second one I was hooked up with, a man named Tom Boyle, affected me greatly.

Tom doesn't need me to do this -- he has his own kids -- but he deserves this shoutout anyway: Happy Father's Day.

Tom never tried to take the role my dad would have had in my life but he was a father figure nonetheless. My wife once asked me what we did when we got together. I recall doing the things guys did together in the 1960s -- going to baseball games at Tiger Stadium, hockey games at the Olympia and U of D basketball games at Calihan Hall. I think we went to a few movies. I remember going to his house for dinner a couple of times and I have a memory of going bowling once.

Tom was a journalist and a public relations man by trade so he was in a position to teach me things in a profession I enjoyed (and later went into). He worked with me on the importance of good grammer and good writing. I suspect I got my joy of reading from him, too. But where we went -- and what we did together -- wasn't as important as something else. Tom simply listened to a young boy when he wanted to talk. It didn't matter what he talked about. Sometimes you just needed to know there was somebody to talk to. It was appreciated at the time and, four decades later, I still remember those talks fondly.

It would surprise a lot of people to know, thanks to Tom's gentle prodding, my handwriting is a lot better now than it used to be (I had a teacher once note it was the worst she had ever seen.) I became a better speller because he told me I needed to do so if I was ever going to get a job as a reporter. Not every encouragement worked. Despite years of going to old-fashioned Catholic Masses (and taking two classes in it), I am still lousy in Latin. Can't win 'em all.

A few years ago, I decided to track him down and, thanks to a nice man named Brad Simmons at Ford, I did so, finding him in Atlanta. We still correspond occasionally. He has his life and I have mine. But I know he is still there for me if I need him --and that thought is still comforting.

Sunday is his day. I am sure his wonderful wife, kids and grandkids will take good care of him. And that is as it should be.

But I wanted to say to Tom and to all the folks who serve as father figures for kids -- whether they be Big Brothers, teachers or simply a friendly neighbor, their work is appreciated. Have a great day.