My father, Charles Bott, passed away in early 2006. He said he didn’t like to make a big fuss on Father’s Day, but I’m sure he really looked forward to the phone calls and visits he got from his six kids on this day every year.
In the last few years of his life we talked on the phone regularly. He used to call with questions about his computer, or to tell me with obvious pride about some cool trick he had discovered how to do in Excel. From there, our conversations always turned to other things, although we learned after years of butting heads over politics that we didn’t really need to spend a lot of time talking about current events.
He loved his children and his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren, and he loved my mother more than anything else. She probably took this picture, in fact, while standing on a bridge over the Green River Gorge in Washington State in early May, 1957. My father had just turned 25. I was not even two years old at the time (my older brother, in front, was only three). Today, when I look at this picture, I marvel at how young we all were.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. We miss you.
Ed Bott (@ wordpress.com) 
My dad turned 70 last November and is still kicking. I visited him today — he was a bit laid up with a back injury, but we were still able to cheer on Turkey getting a 2-1 victory over the Czech Republic on ESPN. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have him (or he me) but I plan to make it all count.
We lost Dad in 1989 and it still makes the day a little sad. The pics from 57 remind me of similar times at a similar date. Ours were of Minnesota and The Gunflint Trail. Looking through the scrapbook is good for a laugh and a cry once in a while. Hope you had a good one.
Thanks for sharing that, Ed. You look just like him.