Reminders and remembrance

Tiger Woods lost his father to cancer earlier this week. It was, again, a reminder of the devastation caused by that ugly C-word.

I know.

Ten years ago to that exact date, I too, lost my father to cancer. Lung cancer to be specific. It was an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I miss him.

I used to call him religiously on Sunday evenings. We’d talk about life, politics, sports and our shared love of golf.

In the years since he passed, I’ve often thought on a Sunday evening about how I would have called my dad to talk about what Tiger had done that particular day.

I’ve imagined how happy he would have been when Phil Mickelson finally won a major championship or for Tom Watson when he won late in his years on the PGA Tour.

I will always miss that Sunday phone call.

You see, my dad was a very special man.

My dad was about character and principles. He wasn’t out to impress. He gladly would have worn a striped shirt with a pair of plaid pants and couldn’t have cared less. One brown sock, with a black sock, it didn’t matter. Fortunately, my mother never let him out of the house that way.

But the point is that my dad didn’t worry about the little things.

He was bigger than that.

He didn’t meet my mom, marry and have a family in the conventional sense. No, he did it the hard way.

You see, my birth father, John Wolf, died at the young age of 29. He left behind a pregnant young wife and their three children. I was 6 at the time, my brother 7, and my sister 4. Just three months later, another sister arrived.

We were not the dream family that every single man was looking for.

But my dad came to the rescue, married my mom, adopted us kids as his own, changed our names and added a fifth child to the mix.

There was no stepfather this or stepsister that. We were simply a family.

There’s no better testament to a man and a father than that. Period.

And as good a dad as he was, I was that much worse as a son.

I challenged him daily in every sense of the word.

When he made my brother and me weed the hill in the back of our home, I complained that my side of the hill had the more difficult weeds.

So my dad had us switch positions, and then I complained that he had already pulled the easy weeds on his side and I was now stuck with the hard ones.

Yes, I was that kind of a kid. It didn’t matter the chore, I always found it unfair.

But he taught me the rules of life from the only book he knew ? his!

Sometimes, as you might imagine, the lessons were painful.

I didn’t know if our relationship would last. He probably felt the same. But it did.

There are many times I wish he were still here to share in some of my experiences and those of my family.

However, time passes and reality sets in.

Like others in the community, I too am invited to participate in the annual remembrance of cancer victims and cancer survivors at the upcoming Relay for Life.

It’s a time once a year when I remember and pay special tribute to my dad, Bill Johnson.

The event is planned for the weekend of May 20 and 21, from 10 a.m. Saturday morning to 10 a.m. Sunday morning on the track at Newport Harbor High School.

Their theme is catchy: One day. One night. One community.

It’s 24 hours of people celebrating, people remembering, people playing games and throwing Frisbees, of tents and campsites, bands playing, food and everyone coming together.

All of the time, people walking the track, lap after lap after lap. The goal, to raise awareness and money to battle this disease.

Then, sometime around 9 p.m. Saturday, when darkness has set in, the inside of the track becomes lighted with hundreds of luminarias, each one with the name of an all-too-familiar victim.

This year, unfortunately, Pat Smith’s name will be added to the mix.

It’s a reminder that life is short but that good people are not forgotten.

To get involved or join a walking team, go to the Relay for Life website, www.kintera.org/faf/home. It really is an event this community should rally around.