If you happened to go into the CompUSA in Roswell anytime during the late ‘90s, you probably would have seen a balding man in his late 50’s working there. He may not have been the one with all the answers; you could tell this computer technology was like new tricks for an old dog. But he’d be more than happy to help, and to find someone who could answer your questions. If you remembered anything about him, it would probably be his easy-going disposition, his quick smile & readiness to laugh. A friendly man. But there’s a lot you wouldn’t know by looking at him.

You probably wouldn’t guess that he had been to the bottom of the ocean, because, well, they needed someone smart down there when things went wrong. Or that the product of his work had been carried out of earth orbit, all the way to the moon, to support the Apollo astronauts working there. Things you probably wouldn’t guess about this second-rate retail salesman. Although...you just might see that quiet strength in his eyes.

He would probably be happy to brag about running the Peachtree road race – six times in a row, although he would not mention that the last time was only a three days after his first round of chemo. That was strength. And without seeing into his past, you would not see the quiet strength he showed in providing for his family even after his professional career collapsed; his willingness to work a fish-counter at Krogers, or try his hand at realty, or computer retail -- anything at all, to pay the rent and keep food on the table. Work he did, when others would just languish in bed, in a depression. He lived in the quiet strength of manhood, and he taught me what it means to be a man. That is, to love, by serving. All that, he taught me well, for he was my father. And I miss him.

Happy belated birthday, Dad. I love you.