For his fiftieth birthday, my mother dispatched a belly dancer to crash the police officers' conference that my father was chairing. I was shocked by the idea, frankly, given my father's dislike of public show (and of revealing his prominent heart surgery scar), but he was a very good sport about the whole thing.
Like most Duckworth's, my dad was a professional extrovert, despite the characteristic personal reserve. Actually, on reflection, I am not sure if his co-workers or team mates ever realized just how introverted he was. In other words, my father could be a ham when he felt the need, and he often felt the need. I proudly take after him in that regard. (Just ask my students.) In sports, my father could be a genuine extrovert too.
When he started playing the tambourine, I had to laugh. Luckily for me, my mother had alerted the relatives about the event, and we crashed the conference just as the belly dancer did. (Well, not just as.) Afterwards, when my brother questioned him about how he reacted to the dancer, my father replied, "What else could I do?" Something like that.
I like remembering what a good sport my father could be. I like to remember him having some fun. (I'll put this memory next to the one of him diving off a rock into the Carmel River when I was a very small boy. I recall thinking, Wow, he's OLD and he's diving right OFF that rock --and my father must have been only 30, 31, or 32.)My father at 50. I'm grayer than he was, but I hope I can be such a good sport my whole life long. Happy Dad's Day, Dad! I'm a day early, but you won't mind, will you?
