Memory of Dad Poem: My Daddy–You Endeared Yourself to Me

Written by Betty Kreisel Shubert on June 15, 2012


When I was just a little girl,

You endeared yourself to me –

By playing games of funny names

In ceilings and things we’d see.

You bought me a trike and a teddy bear –

The fact that you were always there –

Endeared you to me.


We ice skated down to Robertson –

When everyone else just walked.

We were better friends than anyone –

Often we just talked.

We gazed at stars – looked at Mars – studied astronomy.

The earth was an orange,

The sun, a lamp, as you explained the world to me.


As a rule, I’d be late for school (still am to be perfectly true).

I doubt if I’d ever have gotten there –

If it hadn’t been for you.

There were pony rides on Sunday morn.

You held me tight the night Brother was born

You knew I felt so alone and forlorn.

You endeared yourself to me.


If it rained a day that I was at school,

I knew that I could count on you to pick me up at three.

You would often leave an important case –

To endear yourself to me.

You always attended our May Day Fete –

And always you made me proud –

Because you were so handsome and your voice as a Barker, so loud.


As I grew up, you (and Mother, too),

Encouraged me in my field,

Gave me the prize of self,

Confidence to enfold me like a shield.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes –

To see a new sketch and approvingly exclaim.

How can I ever hope to explain –

How you endeared yourself to me.

You stepped over pins and mannequins –

For years you stayed in your room.

Tho’ I wonder now, how you stood for it,

You endeared yourself to me.


I’m grateful, too, for the way that you

Get along with my chosen mate.

Maintaining a bond of friendship,

I really think is great.


I mustn’t forget the Skippy stories –

Or the way you patted me to sleep.

The love and understanding –

That you rooted so very deep.

You handed down this patience, whimsy, and fun –

To your grandchildren – my daughter and my son.

I really am a lucky girl to have this wealthy store –

Of integrity, this legacy of imagination and lore.


Some give their children everything –

That money alone can buy –

But I am so much richer –

‘cause what I have you can’t buy.

My memories are YOUR TREASURY –

Better than money in the bank –

For this life time annuity, my Daddy, I must thank.

You endeared yourself to me.


Love always,


Editor’s Note: This poem was submitted by Betty Kreisel Shubert, a renowned theatrical costume designer with credits for stage, screen, television specials, ready-to-wear, Las Vegas musicals, and Disneyland.

Betty is also a fashion historian and author-illustrator of the upcoming book, “Out of Style: How, Why and When Vintage Fashions Evolved.” Congratulations on your book, Betty, and thank you for sharing this wonderful poetic tribute to your father. He sounds like a wonderful man. You are so lucky!


Memory of Dad: Dads Always Find Out

Written by Randi Levin on June 14, 2012

I have many memories of my Dad.

My story begins on my very first night of grad school, once class was let out.

My class was on a military base. The front license plate on my car was missing, so MP’s pulled me over.

Long story short they arrested me and kept me for many hours in a cell being told, “No phone call, no this or that–just sit there!”

All I could think about was, “There goes my graduate degree, and OMG how am I am going to explain this to my Dad?”

At the end of their shift,  I was driven back to my car. Nothing happened and nothing was ever said to my parents.

And yes, I could still go to graduate school. Thank goodness!


Just about 30 years later, Dad was ill and slowly dying, Mom was battling cancer, and I had several careers.

Needless to say, I was visiting my parents quite often, primarily to spend precious time with Dad.

One night there was some movie on the TV, I sat on the couch reading and watching and he did the same from his chair.

All of a sudden, some innocent people were swept away and locked in a military jail.

And then, out of nowhere. my dad looked right into my eyes and said, “It doesn’t feel so good to be locked up in a military jail does it, Babe?”

I mumbled some answer, yet at that moment I knew that he knew what had happened so many years back.

I didn’t say anything related and he went back to his book and movie.

How he knew I didn’t know. But trust that Dads always find out and know much more about us than we could ever imagine!

To this day I still miss him. . .

Editor’s Note: Randi Levin is a cookbook author/publisher in Colorado who specializes in high-altitude cooking and baking. 

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad

Memory of Dad: I’m Sorry I Didn’t Listen

Written by Kevin Huhn on June 13, 2012

The first thing I would do is hug him and tell him how sorry I was for not listening to his wisdom.

I was 26 when my Dad passed away from a sudden heart attack. He was 52 and was so well respected in Montreal, Québec, in the travel industry.

He did so much making sure that I was given all that he didn’t have, while, at the same, making sure I learned great lessons of how to treat people, how to be in certain environments, and what to do with my life as I got older.

By no means was he rich financially, but he was wealthy with relationships, especially with my mom.

He adored her and taught me how to be a good husband and father. . .problem was, it took me years to learn about how to do it.

Today I am 48. And, in my dreams, I talk to him about the things I have done/not done.

I did not get to say goodbye when he died. I was in another city at a sales meeting and got a call that he had passed away a few hours earlier.

I can remember walking into my Mom’s house, and just breaking down there, and then again at the cemetary.

For anyone who has a relationship with a parent (that they feel is a good one). . .I urge them to hug them, listen to them, and really feel the presence of them.

I sometimes wonder what would I have been like had he still been around.

Then again, his passing is what maybe helped me grow up.

Editor’s Note: This Memory of Dad (MoD) was written by Kevin Huhn, an author based in Ontario, Canada.

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad

Memory of Dad: Your Real and Personal Prison

Written by Debbie Frye on June 12, 2012


I always wondered why you made a joke about everything. Yes, I laughed even when it wasn’t funny; mostly, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

But, I wished we could have held more meaningful and serious conversations together.

Maybe you were afraid to speak from your heart. I think that I know you better now, after your death.

I feel that I really missed knowing you while I had the opportunity.

After researching your life story, I understand you much better. I never knew you were abandoned by Grandma when you were a toddler.

For much of my youth, you were serving time in a penitentiary. I feel that the rest of your life, you were living in your own personal prison.

You were always guarded with your thoughts and feelings. When you told me, “I could tell you stories that could sell a book,” I regret not asking you what you meant.

It could have saved many years of research!

Mom used to say that you were a character. How ironic that you ARE a character in a book!

I still love you and miss you!

Editor’s Note: Debbie Frye and her sister co-authored a book about their father and his life of crime entitled, “Our Father Who Aren’t In Heaven: A True Story of a Career Criminal.” The book (and e-book) is available on the sisters’ website and also from Amazon and Barnes and Noble.


More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad

Memory of Dad: Thank You for Being Proud of Me

Written by Skip Press on June 11, 2012

Toddler Skip Press and his father, Lloyd 

My father, Lloyd Press, had a lot of problems, and some of them got inflicted on me.

He spent some time in the state mental institution when I was 15, and my mother divorced him.

I wanted to know why he had his problems, and I embarked on a lifelong examination of the mind, religions, and healing modalities.

Perhaps it even spurred my writing–my 46th book (most written in my own name)–comes out this August.

The last time I saw my father, he told me he was proud of me.

That’s the memory I live with.

Editor’s Note: This Memory of Dad was written by Skip Press, a prolific Hollywood screenwriter and author. 

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad

Inspiring Moment: Single Rose

Written by Braiden Rex-Johnson


More stories from: Inspiring Moment

Five More Minutes With Mom and Dad

Written by Elizabeth Gaughan on June 7, 2012


You left without warning and I am left with so many things left unsaid.

I would hug you and tell you I love you.

That I appreciate all the things you did for me.

That I’m happy and proud to have you for a Mom.



I left you before you went home.

I couldn’t bear to watch you go, but you were not alone.

I hope when you arrived at the “Family Reunion,” as you used to call Heaven, that you were met with all your lost and sadly missed loved ones.

I wish I had stayed to bid you farewell and tell you I love you and that I am so gratefull to have such a wonderful man as a Dad.


Inspiring Moment: The Avalon

Written by Braiden

Inspiring Moment: Gig Harbor Red-Roofed Boathouse

Written by Braiden

Roger Ebert’s Thoughts on Death

Written by Braiden Rex-Johnson on June 4, 2012

We all know that Roger Ebert is a great film critic. But in addition his blog–Roger Ebert’s Journal–has been named Best Blog by the Society of Newspaper Columnists and the American Association of Sunday and Feature Editors, among others.

He deals with many topics, but perhaps none as thoughtfully as the subject of death in an April blog post that’s very much in the Five More Minutes With zeitgeist.

In Ebert’s piece, he discusses how he had lost people close and/or important to him throughout his life (including his partner, Gene Siskel), and how much he missed each and every one of them.

But recently, he lost seven friends in a short period of time, and three in a matter of 10 days.

He says, “But these recent deaths have seemed to threaten my idea of who I am and the life I have lived. They are contemporaries. They are reservoirs of memory, and in an important sense all that we are is how we are remembered.”

He talks of losing two cousins within a few months of each other. And about recognizing a photo in a slideshow at the second cousin’s funeral. And how he realized that even though he was among a group of relatives, he was probably the only person there who could recognize “Uncle Ben” in that photo, simply because he (Ebert) was the only person there with a memory of him.

The closing paragraph pretty well sums things up,”We exist in the minds of other people, in thousands of memory clusters, and one by one those clusters fade and disappear. Some years from now, at a funeral with a slide show, only one person will be able to say who we were. Then no one will know.”

The blog post touched many people in addition to me, as witnessed by the comment string that numbers 244.

Do you think about and honor those who have passed away? Do you pass memories of their lives on to your children? How will you be remembered when the time comes? And by whom? And for how long?

More stories from: Featured Story
« Newer PostsOlder Posts »