Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 5 · column 2 of 5 · from the scan, no model involved
Last Saturday, Aug. 18, was my father's 71st birthday.
It’s been more than two years since he died, in April, 1988.
I think of him often, but somehow his birthday seemed to provide additional occasion for reflection. Birthdays often provide such opportunities — for self-analysis and reflection, and also for thoughts about how our loved ones have contributed to our lives.
Some years ago, while I was working at The Inn at Little Washington, my grandmother died. My mother’s mother was the family matriarch; Grandmother Erwin was the strongest, yet the most gentle person I have ever met. She was softspoken and quiet, physically a tiny woman, yet no one who met her doubted the strength which emanated from her.
When she died, Chef Patrick O’Connell offered his condolences. He had recently suffered the loss of his father, and as we talked he shared a bit of wisdom that I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. He told me that we receive, from our families, a legacy that really doesn’t begin until after our forebearers are gone.
That wisdom helped me to deal with my grandmother’s death, and I know that it has also been a comfort in reconciling Dad’s death.
Dad shared many things with us during his life, none more important than his conviction about the importance of family ties. He taught by example. Though he was gone often, traveling with his beloved Baltimore Orioles, when he was home his family came first.
He gave up a prestigious job reporting for The Sporting News because it took up too much of
95.5%