Eric Bishop's Webpage

"My father holds a perfect chicken egg. We've won the father-daughter egg toss, earning me one of my favorite possessions: a marble cube sprouting gilt acanthus leaves, with a life-size golden replica of an egg on top. This trophy sits on my desk, reminding me of the sunny day when my dad was so present and so gentle as to keep a flying egg from breaking in either of our hands."

Emilie Ogden, Poor Charlie's Almanack

One of my first memories.

I was 3 years old, my pre-k class allowed parents to come in to present to the kids about their career. My dad of course, being the generous man he is, volunteered for this. I vaguely remember my father, in his shirt and tie, giving a presentation to my class. He worked in sales, and his presentation, the details of which I couldn’t tell you, had something to do with computers.

What I do remember, is that after he finished presenting and got ready to leave, I burst into tears and hugged him so he wouldn’t go. To comfort me, he took me away from school for an hour. We sat at McDonald’s and ate breakfast together. I remember cherishing this simple moment with my dad at that age, and throughout the rest of my childhood.



One of my last memories.

At almost the age of 24, just a few months ago, I made the somewhat spontaneous move from Western New York to Chattanooga, Tennessee. My father joined me to help with the drive down. We spent 13 hours in a truck with my car in tow behind us, the majority of which was spent with him behind the wheel. While this is not a long-winded advertisement for McDonald’s, we happened to stop there near the end of the journey. For old times sake I ordered the same thing as what I did in pre-k (apart from the coffee), and what I had gotten so many times with my dad over the years in the mornings before school.

In the week following the move-in, he helped me pick up furniture and get organized. We shared many more father-son meals together during that week. Since some things don’t change, when he left, I hugged him cried again. But this time I let him go, and I started my new life. That seemingly mundane memory as a child never left me, and 20 years later I still don’t enjoy saying goodbye to my dad.