The two standout experiences I had with Dad:
In 1969 I was running track in Junior High. Dad was working nights and taking classes at the University. I didn't see too much of him. One night he came home smiling like the Cheshire Cat. He told me that in one of his classes there was a lady whose husband was coaching track at a rival school and he asked her how his team was doing. She answered by saying, "Pretty good except for the damn Prescott kid." Then she caught herself and asked him he was Dad's son.
Dad said, "He sure is." (Her husband thought he could win every track meet that season and take the city championship. A couple of days earlier against that school I finished first in three races and it was his first team loss.)
Dad was not stinting in his praise or showing pride in Bruce, Penni or me, but this time was rather special. He was so happy to be the father of "That damn Prescott kid."
The other special experience was many many years later. Dad had retired and was getting out the house by substitute teaching. It was nice that whenever I needed a sub I could choose Dad and know I had a sub the students would not misbehave on. I would tell them that I had never been able to get away with anything on him all my life -- so don't even think about it. One of the teachers in my department was seriously ill and I needed a long term sub for six weeks. Mom and Dad were just coming back from a drive up to Washington State, Oregon and California. With only one day of rest he agreed to the long term contract and for six weeks we taught across the hall from each other. I could see the pride in him as he saw me "in action" so to speak. The teacher who Dad was subbing for wasn't very happy about it at first, but when he came back he told me that the classes were the best behaved he had ever seen after a long term sub.