When I last visited my Dad in Delray Beach, Florida, he was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s.  He knew it, and he owned it; and while he was not happy about things, he seemed to be Ok.  We sat together in the lounge of the assisted living facility: he in his wheelchair, me in a stuffed couch. We talked. He knew he had a son and that the man sitting with him must be that son.  But as the conversation continued, I would catch him searching my face for some little sign of recognition… some hint of remembrance.  He was like some one trying to sneeze but not quite getting it out.

I rattled on about this and that, and I shared with him how he had set such a great example of success for me.  He sort of nodded approval of my respect, but I could see that he was not connecting any personal history with my notions of his success. I asked him if he would like me to tell him just how really great he was.  He smiled and said he thought that would be nice—he was never shy.  So I started. 

I reminded him of how, circa the age of eleven, he and his big brother just up and left the soddie house on the family homestead in western Kansas; and how he had worked his way east starting in Topeka as a delivery boy in a bakery for room and board. I watched his face as he struggled unsuccessfully to recapture those memories.  

I went on about his days in Memphis when he became an apprentice toolmaker and eventually gravitated to Dayton, Ohio. I stressed how he had worked for Frigidaire while, simultaneously, he went to night school to get his high school diploma. And, how all that led to joining one of the first classes at General Motors Institute of Technology as a co-op student. Dad nodded slightly, but more in appreciation of the act than for remembrance of the deed.

I told him about his taking this little Bobby to work every Sunday just to “check on things”.

 “You were a hands-on manager,” I told him. Again, he smiled at the thought, but there was no sign of recall. In my own mind, however, there flashed the memory of me checking my company on Sundays.