I Remember My Dad I watched my Dad live all his life and yet he never realized his full potential. He never truly lived the way he desired. He was carried away from us way too soon. He was a very studious man, reading both his morning and evening papers. He was also a very restless man - determined to find whatever he was looking for; he was in search of something more than he had. He was the first entrepreneur I remember meeting, now that I look back. He ran a mechanic shop as the sole proprietor in our small town of Lula, Mississippi. He was always happy about his ability to "survive" in his small business. While the business did not help him overcome the poverty he was thrusted into, it was one of the main components which defined who he was. It made whatever that longing was inside of him languish, if only briefly. Every Wednesday night, during the 50's, he usually convinced the customers still around during his closing time to come into our house for a weekly view of the fight. Dad loved Joe Louis and thought him one of the "greatest" fighters of that era. On one occasion, I had gone to him and asked if I could become a mechanic like him. He encouraged me and quickly made me a part of his business, teaching me how to replace an alternator. Mom objected and I was quickly removed from my father's business and put back into the sanctity of woman's work. I was so proud to be my dad's daughter since I admired him so much. He was everything that I thought myself to be - smart, introvert more than extrovert, studious and determined to be "free" of all restraints. One of the reasons I finished college is because I promised him I would since he knew how important school was to me. I would have never been allowed to finish high school had it not been for him. I thought I pleased him in my determination to be who and what I desired as a person and as a citizen. He was the sole reason for my going back to school and insured that my mom would allow me the chance to do what I love most - continue my education. When my mom refused to let me come home, Dad did. Infact, he insisted on it and forced her to keep my two children from my marriage while I attended school. He was more than my dad; he was my hero. Dad was not a good father, but he was the best he knew how to be. Sometimes I think he had too many children but did not have enough energy or time to raise them properly. Inspite of his frailities, he loved us the best he could and as long as he could. For I believe he loved us until his demise.