It wouldn't be me if I didn't mention the book 'Observations at the Speed of Life' every week. Recently, I have been guesting on several podcasts and will be including those links in future editions.

Thanks to everyone who has already purchased the book, and of course, thanks for reading the Wednesday Weblog.

Father’s Day is over. Most men in that category got some nice cards and some nice gifts. We have to wait another 362 days for the same attention and recognition. If you, like me, no longer have your father to talk to face to face, how do you recognize and appreciate him?

Perhaps you visit the cemetery. Perhaps you gather with siblings. Perhaps you simply think about him. It will come as no surprise to regular readers, that I do something a little bit different.

Those readers who have a father they can still talk to, I can almost guarantee that you take him for granted. I did when mine was alive. He passed away 35 years ago, so memories have faded a bit, but his impact on me has not.

My dad was far from perfect and didn’t quite earn the ‘role model of the year’ award, but he was tough, and smart, and loved his kids and would do anything he could for them.

When he was about 50 years old, he was given five years to live by his doctor, and on the day he was supposed to pass, his buddies at the John P. McKeon Post in Dorchester threw him a party. He lived several more years. Here is how Father's Day goes for the son of Edward Ambrose Doherty.

He wasn’t always right. He wasn’t always cool. He wasn’t always smart. But he always, more or less, did it his way. In fact, the song “My Way” by Frank Sinatra was one of his favorites.

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I traveled each and every highway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all, and I stood tall

And did it my way

Each Father’s Day, my brother Paul, the real runner in the family, and I head to that John P. Mckeon Post in Dorchester to run in their Father’s Day 5K to remember our dad. He served in the Army in post-war Germany and during the Korean War and was extremely active in Post activities, even serving as an officer.

The place is older now, and very few members remember our dad. But it is the same post where he’d bring us into the private Member’s Lounge for a Schiltz. The same post where my son Joey’s baptism reception was held. The same post where my uncles were members, where some of the cousins had their wedding receptions, and where the memory of my dad oozes from the walls and the flags for us.

This year, it was a beautiful sunny day for about 200 runners and walkers who moved along the Neponset River separating Dorchester from Quincy. We ran over what used to be a dump but is now a beautiful riverfront park.

My brother Chris, who is six years into recovering from a stroke, also joined us and has set a goal of someday running in the event.

Before the race, we were there early, chatting with each other and the three or four cousins who also run, when the National Anthem started to play. 

I held my hand over my heart while my tears were over my face. Hearing that song at a veterans post and visualizing my dad saluting simply choked me up.

Shortly after that, I ran the route, lost to my brother again, but not by much (he was hurting) and by 10:45 AM I had wolfed down two hot dogs, although I passed on the free beer.

The whole time I was running and hanging around, I kept wishing that I could talk to my dad for a half-hour. I wanted to share, ask questions, listen to his wisdom and opinions. But I couldn’t. All I could do was think about him and silently thank him.

If your father is still alive here's an easy way to appreciate him more. Pretend that you learned he only had a month to live. What would you do? Would you treat him the same? Would you talk with him more? Would you take him on a trip? Would you…

When I knew my dad was not going to make it much further, I simply said: “Thanks, Dad. I love you.

Come to think of it, that might be the most important thing that fathers need from children, and every day they hear those words, is Father’s Day to them.