They say as you age you lose short term memory, so here goes. My long term memory intact recalls the wake-up call at 0700 on Saturday mornings. “Your turn to go with Daddy on his Rounds”. What the hell does that mean? It means on a Saturday Morning, in Phoenix, Arizona, I don’t get to join my buddies playing football in the street or Softball over at our grade school. I accompany him to these places that look sort of like schools, or prisons or institutions of some type.
The halls are quiet. Eerily so, but there is an odd smell to them that I cannot place. No one is awake and watching cartoons. We enter each room and Dad begins to talk with folks who look alien to me. I can barely hear them but they smile when he sits next to them. I recall him smiling too. He was actually touching them, holding their hands, what’s up with that? Are they his friends? He pulls out some gear from his bag (I have that same bag in my office to this day) and he pokes, listens and then moves on to the next room.
These were folks he had known for years and had followed them along their path to their likely demise. I fully understand now what he was doing, why he did it and why I still have so much respect for him as a Man and role Model. I also recall that smell; some things you cannot forget.