BUCKY

WARD, JAMES TERRANCE “Terry” (Age 59)

Of Herndon, VA, died on October 19, 2003, at Reston Hospital. He was born on October 4, 1944, in Philadelphia, PA, to the late James F. and Margaret Ward. Terry was the beloved husband of Linda Ward; loving and devoted father of Patrick Ward, James T. Ward Jr., Mary Ward, and Michael Ward; brother of Kathleen Pendergast, Sheila M. Ward, Eileen M. Beale, and Margaret Ward; grandfather of Aliyah Parker.

He was all of those things and so much more.

As Father’s Day approaches, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about my dad.

It’s funny how memories work. You think they’ll fade over time, but sometimes they become clearer.

I remember trips to Andrews Air Force Base to watch the Blue Angels. Trips to the Marine Barracks to watch the Silent Drill Team. Family vacations to Houghton Lake. Days spent at Bull Run. I remember sitting on the couch watching The Blues Brothers more times than I can count.

My dad loved bluegrass music. I never quite developed that appreciation, but he also introduced me to the blues, and that one stuck.

Most of all, I remember his sense of humor. He was funny as hell and had a wicked sense of humor. Some people might say it was a little inappropriate. They’d probably be right.

But when I think about who my father really was, I keep coming back to one memory.

I was probably ten or eleven years old. Money was tight, though I didn’t understand it at the time. My dad bought me a bike. It wasn’t the bike I wanted. But he had put a lot of work into it. He fixed it up, added everything he could, and did his best to make it special.

And I hated it.

I was a little punk about it.

I didn’t appreciate the effort. I didn’t understand the sacrifice. I only saw what it wasn’t instead of what it was.

Looking back, that moment still bothers me.

What I didn’t understand then was that my dad was doing what he always did. He was putting his family first.

The funny thing is that the next year I got the top-of-the-line Mongoose bike I’d been asking for. Looking back now, I’m sure my mom and dad had to scrape and save to make that happen.

But that’s who he was.

He put his kids before himself.

As I get closer to the age he was when he passed away, I’ve come to realize something.

The people we love never really leave us.

They live in the stories we tell. They live in the lessons they taught us. They live in the habits we’ve picked up and the sayings we catch ourselves repeating.

Every once in a while, I’ll say something and stop myself.

“Damn, I sound just like my dad.”

Sometimes I’ll hear one of his sayings come out of my mouth and think, he used to say that all the time.

All those talks, movies, trips, and yes, even the occasional ass-chewing, made me who I am today.

And when I hear myself sounding like him, I think, good. I’m glad he’s still here helping me along.