My dad, a former U.S. Army master sergeant, might have been the least spontaneous person on earth, bless his heart.
Yet, I remember one day in 1969, he signed me out of elementary school to go to a state basketball tournament game in Nashville. Didn’t see that coming.
That vivid childhood memory came back to me the other day after I checked the messages on my work telephone and heard the high-pitched voice of my 7-year-old son.
“Daddy,” he said on the recording, “don’t forget to call that place so we can go see the road paver machines.”
Weeks ago, I mentioned in a column that he is already thinking about careers and has narrowed his choices to “wedding cake baker” and “road paver person.” Last summer, a paving crew was resurfacing the road in front of our house, and my wife and two sons brought them some cold drinks on a hot day.