DAZE WORK: When the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

Lately I’ve been thinking about my Dad quite a bit more than usual. And not just because Father’s Day is coming up.

As a kid I used to marvel at how he could take a nap at the drop of a hat. I couldn’t make myself take a nap but there he was literally just minutes from finishing his work for the day as personnel manager at a suburban Chicago manufacturing company, sawing logs in our living room recliner.

We lived at 20th Avenue and Roosevelt Road in the western suburb of Broadview and the lighting manufacturing factory -- the company made all kinds of outdoor lighting, including the big fixtures that were installed at Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium when it was built in 1969 (I know because I loaded a semi with them, even taking time to scribble “The Reds stink” on one of the cartons) -- was at 25th Avenue and Roosevelt. So Dad was probably five minutes from home when his day ended at 5 p.m. If I didn’t intercept him in the backyard or driveway to play catch or work on my pitching mechanics, he’d be slumped in that chair and asleep in two minutes flat.

I’ve thought about that often as I try to keep my eyes open these days whenever I adjourn to the living room recliner. Used to be I couldn’t force myself to fall asleep before bedtime. Let me tell you, those days are gone.

This is also the year I become the same age Dad was when he died in 1992. Scary thought, what with the health issues I’ve endured the last couple of years.

No, my Dad wasn’t an easy guy to get to know or love. After all, growing up in the 1960s, we had a warped sense of fatherhood. Television told us “Father Knows Best” and gave us father figures like Ward Cleaver, Andy Taylor and Ben Cartwright. Certainly there weren’t any Cliff Huxtables around to warn us, “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”

When I think about it, my Dad was more like my best friend than a father. Virtually every weekend spring, summer and fall we went fishing somewhere in northern Illinois or southern Wisconsin. When we weren’t fishing, we were going to see the Cubs or White Sox play. It wasn’t until I was at college that I learned going to 20 or 30 major league baseball games a year wasn’t something everybody did. So I guess I was lucky.

When Dad passed it was up to me to give the eulogy and I focused my remarks on how “we always had baseball” -- inspired by the Billy Crystal character’s relationship with his father in the movie “City Slickers” -- to fall back on when we couldn’t talk about other more important things.

Yo, Daddio, as my daughters might say. Never did I think I was anything like my father. But here I am seeing him in so many things I do. So many attitudes I have. So many words and deeds. Don’t be scared, kids.

OK, so it is coming up on Father’s Day. And apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I can embrace that now. Feel good about who I am and how I got here.

Guess I owe Dad a big salute after all.

Time to go take a mid-day nap in his honor.