Remembering Dad
Everything I am today, I am because of my father. When my brother Steve and I were 12 and 10, respectively, Dad would roust us out of bed at 4 a.m. every day to deliver the morning newspaper, driving and dropping us at different spots along the route in “the ’60”—his 1960 Chevy Bel Air. The only radio station on the air that early was WHO-AM, so between stop-and-drops we listened to “Mike Hoyer, your country DJ” blasting Red Sovine and Tammy Wynette from the lone dash speaker. Dad loved building things, and he gently passed that passion on to us every day. During my high school years he’d be up early, getting a couple of hours in the shop building John Deere shadow boxes (he figured he’d made about 800…