Father's Day 2013

When I was a teenager I watched a tv western with gentle giant Clint Walker as Cheyenne Brodie.  I used to pretend he was my brother and would protect me in teenaged fantasies that found me in danger of one kind or another.  Clint Walker was a sequoia tall man with beautiful eyes and a gentle, respectful voice.  A week ago I noticed an old western movie, Fort Dobbs, on the telly and watched it.  I was immediately pulled in yet again to the character's appeal - he tried to avoid a fight but would protect the weak amongst us, he called women "maam" and avoided potentially intimate situations, and something I hadn't noticed before, he rode a horse full out in stunning style over land that had to have prairie dog holes scattered through it.  I could easily see why I was drawn to him as a young-un.  But on this Father's Day weekend it occurs to me that just steps away from my bedroom was my real hero.  The man who protected me daily, appointed himself the school board member to give out diplomas for both my eighth grade and high school graduations, is pictured looking at me not at the photographer in my wedding photos, was home every night of my life growing up.  A quiet man, a strong man.  A Clint Walker kind of guy.  I miss you, Dad.  We sorely need heroes today.  Thanks for being mine.