Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there. I’m happy to report Robert Wayne Englehart Sr. is alive and well living in Auburn, Indiana. He’s 89 years old next month and still beating me at golf. He’s always been a physical specimen, broad shouldered, muscular, well proportioned and handsome. I take after him except for the physical specimen, broad shouldered, muscular, well proportioned part. OK, we’re both bald.
He taught himself to play the piano and the banjo mandolin. His favorite song is “He’s In Love With The Garbage Man’s Daughter.” He told me the funniest dirty joke I ever heard; so funny, I won a prize with it.
Time has taken its toll. He’s about four inches shorter than thirty years ago, but his health is good and his bones are strong. A couple of years ago he was cleaning the gutters and fell off the ladder. His young wife Nancy (twelve years his junior) saw it and said, “That’s it! We’re moving to assisted living!”
I expect my father to live well into his 90s, but his generation is rapidly leaving this dimension. The World War II heroes are heading to the last inning, and you know what that means. We baby boomers are stepping into the on deck circle. Pretty soon, it’ll be “Batter up!”