There’ll be a lot of flag waving today. I posted a few comments about the 11th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks myself. But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that I always mark a separate, more personal anniversary every year on September 11th. This is the 28th anniversary of the death of my father, Bob Lovelace, who died on September 11th, 1984. Every year I take at least a moment to think of him.
I’m not going to get into any long soliloquy about my father. As I’ve mentioned on other occasions, I didn’t know the man very well. He and my mother separated when I was about five years old, and our paths only crossed on occasion in the years that followed. It would not be fair to say that I knew him. If anything, my relationship with my father was built upon the idea that I would have time to get to know him as I got older. That was not to be.
Honestly, I look back on it now and am ashamed of myself. I had just turned 19 when my father died. And like every other person who has ever been that age, I thought of nothing but myself. Now I wonder why so many years had passed without any real contact between us. Now I wonder why I didn’t take more of an interest. Why didn’t I call? Why was he more of a theoretical idea to me than an actual person? The only excuse I can think of is that I thought we had plenty of time to build a relationship and make up for lost time. That we did not is perhaps more my fault than his.
Anyway, I just wanted to take a moment to mention Bob Lovelace. He was my father.