On Monday July 6 my father, Edward James, Dowd, will be 97 years old.
He and my mother met in Miami during World War II when she was translating French for the Bureau of Censorship and he was a radio navigator flying men and materiel over north Africa. They met at a Knights of Columbus dance. I never really got the whole story about what a nice Baptist girl was doing at Knights of Columbus dance, but strange things happen in wartime.
My earliest memory of my father is being rocked and sung to. He would sing me songs he made up about how much he loved me. He taught me how do things, how to make things, how to fix things. Most important he taught me how to solve problems. I have an image in my memory of Daddy muttering to himself as he worked through something he was trying to fix or make. He taught me not to give up on difficult problems.
He liked to play with his family. He and Mama took us camping. We played baseball a lot. There were five of us so my brother and I always had the choice of playing on Daddy's side or on the side with Mama and our younger sister. It worked out because Mama could hit but she couldn't run and Doris could run but she couldn't hit. Daddy, of course, could do everything.
He went easy on us in baseball, but he was ruthless playing Clue. He wrote down everything that every player said and what response they got. He was thorough, for sure.
I have been a pastor for 38 years and I have never seen a more devoted husband and father than Daddy. He gets tremendous satisfaction from looking after his family. Nobody could be more generous. He put three children and several grandchildren through college.
He has supported more missionaries than I can keep up with. At one point he and Mama were easily giving away 50% of their income through their church and Campus Crusade for Christ. He taught me that trusting God is a far better path to security than hoarding money.
He doesn't get out much now but he goes to Sunday School and church every Sunday, rain or shine. He is still eager to ask if I need help. I count on his prayers.
Happy birthday, Daddy!
He and my mother met in Miami during World War II when she was translating French for the Bureau of Censorship and he was a radio navigator flying men and materiel over north Africa. They met at a Knights of Columbus dance. I never really got the whole story about what a nice Baptist girl was doing at Knights of Columbus dance, but strange things happen in wartime.
My earliest memory of my father is being rocked and sung to. He would sing me songs he made up about how much he loved me. He taught me how do things, how to make things, how to fix things. Most important he taught me how to solve problems. I have an image in my memory of Daddy muttering to himself as he worked through something he was trying to fix or make. He taught me not to give up on difficult problems.
He liked to play with his family. He and Mama took us camping. We played baseball a lot. There were five of us so my brother and I always had the choice of playing on Daddy's side or on the side with Mama and our younger sister. It worked out because Mama could hit but she couldn't run and Doris could run but she couldn't hit. Daddy, of course, could do everything.
He went easy on us in baseball, but he was ruthless playing Clue. He wrote down everything that every player said and what response they got. He was thorough, for sure.
I have been a pastor for 38 years and I have never seen a more devoted husband and father than Daddy. He gets tremendous satisfaction from looking after his family. Nobody could be more generous. He put three children and several grandchildren through college.
He has supported more missionaries than I can keep up with. At one point he and Mama were easily giving away 50% of their income through their church and Campus Crusade for Christ. He taught me that trusting God is a far better path to security than hoarding money.
He doesn't get out much now but he goes to Sunday School and church every Sunday, rain or shine. He is still eager to ask if I need help. I count on his prayers.
Happy birthday, Daddy!