The Journey To Discover My Dad

If you want to know "who" I really am, take a look at my father through my eyes.

Bold and brave and sweet as pie

he gave and gave; do you know why?

A dad is more than, planted seeds

it's watering, pruning and pulling weeds.

He loved when things were good and bad

and sacrificed what he could have had

To be sure we had all that we'd need

to live life well, more than just succeed.

He knew things we could never know

and showed us what it meant to grow

Never give up, life can be hard

you don't quit due to lousy cards

But play the hand that you were dealt

experience taught him, so he felt

The obligation to equip his kids

to pay it forward, as he did

Leave this world better than you found

for the ones who inherit this hallowed ground

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That's my dad. Humble and hardworking, playful and honest. Goodhearted and generous.

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Early on, he was a playmate. He was gone a lot for work, a railroader. So, when he was home, the sky was the limit.

Bike rides, hide and seek, king of the raft and kick the cans.

He took us swimming at the quarry and rides in the bed of his old ford pick-up for ice cream cones at the Dairy Queen. Shoulder rides and camping trips, once a year he took us to an amazing amusement park, let us stand on his toes to "sneak" onto the rides. He was our adventure.

Dad taught us how to be playful, but in the midst of that, he taught us the value of family.

The first to support us in the interests that would make us the adults we would become. Not just for us, but for the influence we would have on those around us. Boyd was community minded. What we failed or succeeded at, would also impact the ones we cared about.

Learning to play fair and be encouragers, and good sports, prepared us for the world, and we had no idea he was teaching.

Dad also had a tremendous work ethic. He had been working since he was 8, to help his family, and he owed us the privilege of understanding what that meant.

Growing up, we had a large, I mean, LARGE garden. We were expected to keep it weeded and tended. When we picked, we were providing for more than ourselves.

Every one of our neighbors knew - when they saw the 6 Sheckler kids in the garden, that meant they would be getting fresh produce delivered that evening. Dad loved being the man, long before that was a thing. But he found his pride in the compliments they made of his children, not just the food itself.

He drug our friends along, the ones who's fathers couldn't or wouldn't. He wanted to make sure they felt that love. All the kids wanted to come to our place.

But when we crossed a line, he was the first to get us back on track. We were not afraid of him, but the respect he commanded was of not wanting to disappoint him. Although, I can tell you, we all met his belt on occasion.

An Atlas.

That's what my dad is.

A collection of maps. Detours, shortcuts and places you just CAN'T miss. Specially marked places to stop for help, encouragement and rest.

He not only provided the instructions, but he also went along with us on the trip.

At 92, he is still willing, wanting and wonderstruck about his journey. There are so many stories I could tell you about, trying to describe the qualities of my father, but the dictionary hasn't uncovered the right words to completely do him justice.

So, for now, meet Boyd, my poppers.

The greatest man I know.