Father's Day, 2018
A message to my Father
Eighteen years have come and gone since your passing. I miss you just as much. I loved to make you laugh, and I liked being with you, doing exactly nothing. You were easy to be with. You suffered a lot during your last years, quadruple bypass and Parkinson's disease. But you were pretty darn good about handling your problems. You only whined about not being able to play tennis anymore. God rest your soul. Your son, Steve.
My Father was born in Austin, Travis County, Texas, USA the only son of Mayme Lee Hauer Burton and Joseph Dane Burton, Sr. His older sister, Helen, was a lot of fun; and they were close to one another until Helen Marie "Tootsie" Burton Munro died of metastasis of colon cancer. I could have been Joseph Dane Burton III, as I was the first born; but my Father hated the name Joe, because it was worn out in WWII with the GI Joe moniker.
My Dad's Father was a bank teller, and his Mother had an 8th grade education. They were decidedly not well-to-do. When Dad was 8 years old, the Great Depression began; and like so many others he suffered from its effects for the rest of his life.
Dad's Grandmother Burton was an immigrant from Sweden, and his Grandmother Hauer was a 2nd generation German American. He had a pronounced effect on my DNA with German/French and Scandinavian combining for about 45% of my DNA.
Dad was a good student and graduated from the University of Texas with a business major. WWII called him, he went to pilot's school, got his pilot training, and went on to fly transport DC-3's in the Italian theater for the US Army Aircorp. He never saw combat; but he lost friends to the war. He rarely or never voluntarily spoke of the war except to repeat a funny remark, that one of his buddies often made. When asked where he was from, the buddy would respond "Califrisco Pennsyltucky". For some reason, I never tired of hearing that. Another one of his sayings was "I'll be go to hell". Don't know where that came from, and never heard it from anyone else. I think Dad enjoyed playing with language a little bit.
After the war Dad was accepted to the Graduate School of Business at Stanford University, where he went on the GI Bill. He received his MBA, with a specialty in accounting in March, 1948.
Upon graduating he and my Mother moved to Waco, Texas. My Mother was 8 months pregnant with me; so I can only imagine what a hard trip that was in those days. I was born the next month in April, 1948 at Hillcrest Memorial Hospital in Waco, Texas.
After a couple of startup issues, Dad finally settled into a business relationship with Clayton Tuggle. The Tuggles meant the world to my Father, and I believe they were the ones, who introduced my parents to one another. Eventually, they formed Tuggle, Burton and Co. It became a successful CPA firm in Dallas. They bought their own building on Yale St., off of Greenville Ave. and became landlords.
My Father was a hard worker, and I rarely saw much of him between January 1 and May 15. He would leave for work before I got up in the morning and return after I went to bed, when I was young. But I got to see him almost every weekend.
My Father and I had an uneven relationship, like so many sons and Fathers do. He was displeased about a number of my personality or behavioral traits. My respect for him wavered a number of times. However, we managed to put aside most things and actually have a relationship of affection and mutual respect until he died, even though we were separated by 1800 miles for the last 5 years. I had my Father to talk to until I was 52 years old. I'm grateful for that; I know so many, who lost their Fathers much earlier.
A message to my Father
Eighteen years have come and gone since your passing. I miss you just as much. I loved to make you laugh, and I liked being with you, doing exactly nothing. You were easy to be with. You suffered a lot during your last years, quadruple bypass and Parkinson's disease. But you were pretty darn good about handling your problems. You only whined about not being able to play tennis anymore. God rest your soul. Your son, Steve.
My Father was born in Austin, Travis County, Texas, USA the only son of Mayme Lee Hauer Burton and Joseph Dane Burton, Sr. His older sister, Helen, was a lot of fun; and they were close to one another until Helen Marie "Tootsie" Burton Munro died of metastasis of colon cancer. I could have been Joseph Dane Burton III, as I was the first born; but my Father hated the name Joe, because it was worn out in WWII with the GI Joe moniker.
My Dad's Father was a bank teller, and his Mother had an 8th grade education. They were decidedly not well-to-do. When Dad was 8 years old, the Great Depression began; and like so many others he suffered from its effects for the rest of his life.
Dad's Grandmother Burton was an immigrant from Sweden, and his Grandmother Hauer was a 2nd generation German American. He had a pronounced effect on my DNA with German/French and Scandinavian combining for about 45% of my DNA.
Dad was a good student and graduated from the University of Texas with a business major. WWII called him, he went to pilot's school, got his pilot training, and went on to fly transport DC-3's in the Italian theater for the US Army Aircorp. He never saw combat; but he lost friends to the war. He rarely or never voluntarily spoke of the war except to repeat a funny remark, that one of his buddies often made. When asked where he was from, the buddy would respond "Califrisco Pennsyltucky". For some reason, I never tired of hearing that. Another one of his sayings was "I'll be go to hell". Don't know where that came from, and never heard it from anyone else. I think Dad enjoyed playing with language a little bit.
After the war Dad was accepted to the Graduate School of Business at Stanford University, where he went on the GI Bill. He received his MBA, with a specialty in accounting in March, 1948.
Upon graduating he and my Mother moved to Waco, Texas. My Mother was 8 months pregnant with me; so I can only imagine what a hard trip that was in those days. I was born the next month in April, 1948 at Hillcrest Memorial Hospital in Waco, Texas.
After a couple of startup issues, Dad finally settled into a business relationship with Clayton Tuggle. The Tuggles meant the world to my Father, and I believe they were the ones, who introduced my parents to one another. Eventually, they formed Tuggle, Burton and Co. It became a successful CPA firm in Dallas. They bought their own building on Yale St., off of Greenville Ave. and became landlords.
My Father was a hard worker, and I rarely saw much of him between January 1 and May 15. He would leave for work before I got up in the morning and return after I went to bed, when I was young. But I got to see him almost every weekend.
My Father and I had an uneven relationship, like so many sons and Fathers do. He was displeased about a number of my personality or behavioral traits. My respect for him wavered a number of times. However, we managed to put aside most things and actually have a relationship of affection and mutual respect until he died, even though we were separated by 1800 miles for the last 5 years. I had my Father to talk to until I was 52 years old. I'm grateful for that; I know so many, who lost their Fathers much earlier.
Father's Day, 2018
A message to my Father
Eighteen years have come and gone since your passing. I miss you just as much. I loved to make you laugh, and I liked being with you, doing exactly nothing. You were easy to be with. You suffered a lot during your last years, quadruple bypass and Parkinson's disease. But you were pretty darn good about handling your problems. You only whined about not being able to play tennis anymore. God rest your soul. Your son, Steve.
My Father was born in Austin, Travis County, Texas, USA the only son of Mayme Lee Hauer Burton and Joseph Dane Burton, Sr. His older sister, Helen, was a lot of fun; and they were close to one another until Helen Marie "Tootsie" Burton Munro died of metastasis of colon cancer. I could have been Joseph Dane Burton III, as I was the first born; but my Father hated the name Joe, because it was worn out in WWII with the GI Joe moniker.
My Dad's Father was a bank teller, and his Mother had an 8th grade education. They were decidedly not well-to-do. When Dad was 8 years old, the Great Depression began; and like so many others he suffered from its effects for the rest of his life.
Dad's Grandmother Burton was an immigrant from Sweden, and his Grandmother Hauer was a 2nd generation German American. He had a pronounced effect on my DNA with German/French and Scandinavian combining for about 45% of my DNA.
Dad was a good student and graduated from the University of Texas with a business major. WWII called him, he went to pilot's school, got his pilot training, and went on to fly transport DC-3's in the Italian theater for the US Army Aircorp. He never saw combat; but he lost friends to the war. He rarely or never voluntarily spoke of the war except to repeat a funny remark, that one of his buddies often made. When asked where he was from, the buddy would respond "Califrisco Pennsyltucky". For some reason, I never tired of hearing that. Another one of his sayings was "I'll be go to hell". Don't know where that came from, and never heard it from anyone else. I think Dad enjoyed playing with language a little bit.
After the war Dad was accepted to the Graduate School of Business at Stanford University, where he went on the GI Bill. He received his MBA, with a specialty in accounting in March, 1948.
Upon graduating he and my Mother moved to Waco, Texas. My Mother was 8 months pregnant with me; so I can only imagine what a hard trip that was in those days. I was born the next month in April, 1948 at Hillcrest Memorial Hospital in Waco, Texas.
After a couple of startup issues, Dad finally settled into a business relationship with Clayton Tuggle. The Tuggles meant the world to my Father, and I believe they were the ones, who introduced my parents to one another. Eventually, they formed Tuggle, Burton and Co. It became a successful CPA firm in Dallas. They bought their own building on Yale St., off of Greenville Ave. and became landlords.
My Father was a hard worker, and I rarely saw much of him between January 1 and May 15. He would leave for work before I got up in the morning and return after I went to bed, when I was young. But I got to see him almost every weekend.
My Father and I had an uneven relationship, like so many sons and Fathers do. He was displeased about a number of my personality or behavioral traits. My respect for him wavered a number of times. However, we managed to put aside most things and actually have a relationship of affection and mutual respect until he died, even though we were separated by 1800 miles for the last 5 years. I had my Father to talk to until I was 52 years old. I'm grateful for that; I know so many, who lost their Fathers much earlier.
A message to my Father
Eighteen years have come and gone since your passing. I miss you just as much. I loved to make you laugh, and I liked being with you, doing exactly nothing. You were easy to be with. You suffered a lot during your last years, quadruple bypass and Parkinson's disease. But you were pretty darn good about handling your problems. You only whined about not being able to play tennis anymore. God rest your soul. Your son, Steve.
My Father was born in Austin, Travis County, Texas, USA the only son of Mayme Lee Hauer Burton and Joseph Dane Burton, Sr. His older sister, Helen, was a lot of fun; and they were close to one another until Helen Marie "Tootsie" Burton Munro died of metastasis of colon cancer. I could have been Joseph Dane Burton III, as I was the first born; but my Father hated the name Joe, because it was worn out in WWII with the GI Joe moniker.
My Dad's Father was a bank teller, and his Mother had an 8th grade education. They were decidedly not well-to-do. When Dad was 8 years old, the Great Depression began; and like so many others he suffered from its effects for the rest of his life.
Dad's Grandmother Burton was an immigrant from Sweden, and his Grandmother Hauer was a 2nd generation German American. He had a pronounced effect on my DNA with German/French and Scandinavian combining for about 45% of my DNA.
Dad was a good student and graduated from the University of Texas with a business major. WWII called him, he went to pilot's school, got his pilot training, and went on to fly transport DC-3's in the Italian theater for the US Army Aircorp. He never saw combat; but he lost friends to the war. He rarely or never voluntarily spoke of the war except to repeat a funny remark, that one of his buddies often made. When asked where he was from, the buddy would respond "Califrisco Pennsyltucky". For some reason, I never tired of hearing that. Another one of his sayings was "I'll be go to hell". Don't know where that came from, and never heard it from anyone else. I think Dad enjoyed playing with language a little bit.
After the war Dad was accepted to the Graduate School of Business at Stanford University, where he went on the GI Bill. He received his MBA, with a specialty in accounting in March, 1948.
Upon graduating he and my Mother moved to Waco, Texas. My Mother was 8 months pregnant with me; so I can only imagine what a hard trip that was in those days. I was born the next month in April, 1948 at Hillcrest Memorial Hospital in Waco, Texas.
After a couple of startup issues, Dad finally settled into a business relationship with Clayton Tuggle. The Tuggles meant the world to my Father, and I believe they were the ones, who introduced my parents to one another. Eventually, they formed Tuggle, Burton and Co. It became a successful CPA firm in Dallas. They bought their own building on Yale St., off of Greenville Ave. and became landlords.
My Father was a hard worker, and I rarely saw much of him between January 1 and May 15. He would leave for work before I got up in the morning and return after I went to bed, when I was young. But I got to see him almost every weekend.
My Father and I had an uneven relationship, like so many sons and Fathers do. He was displeased about a number of my personality or behavioral traits. My respect for him wavered a number of times. However, we managed to put aside most things and actually have a relationship of affection and mutual respect until he died, even though we were separated by 1800 miles for the last 5 years. I had my Father to talk to until I was 52 years old. I'm grateful for that; I know so many, who lost their Fathers much earlier.
