Bob Thomas Writes

Fathers Day 1998…11:40 P.M.

My son called a few minutes ago to wish me a happy Fathers Day.

He apologized for not sending me a gift.

And then he gave me a gift.

One of the best gifts I’ve ever received.

He told me about his week.

His trip toHattiesburg,Mississippito sell his services to a hospital.

Then across town to do the same at a clinic.

Then down toBiloxito speak at a Medical Conference as the “expert” in his field.

 Then he told me of his drive back toNew Orleans.

The city where I led him around by his hand when he was seven or eight years old. Where we rode the roller coaster atLakePonchatrainPark. Where we had our pictures taken in the photo booth . . . with him sitting on my lap . . . laughing.

The city where I carried him on my shoulders because he was too tired to walk.

The city where I watched him sleep and prayed that he would live a happy, successful life.

The city where he showed me how he could stand on his head inJackson Square.

… And he ate beignets, and pralines, and got sick.

I wish I could take some of the credit for his success.

Maybe . . . , just maybe, I gave him a gene, or a cell, or an atom in his body that said “You can do this…”

Maybe I did that for him.

I hope so.

Because, somewhere inside of me, my Dad touches my soul every once in awhile and says,

“Now, you understand what being a Father is all about”.

That’s what my Son gave me for Fathers Day today. . .

What a great gift!

June 21, 1998