Robert Burke was a unique guy in many respects, unusual, quirky, astute, funny, and, at times, even challenging in various settings; he sometimes talked too much, probably because he thought a lot more than most other people do. I was very lucky, though, to have had the privilege of knowing him from a special vantage point—that of his son. Most kids dream of having the kind of father who takes walks with you, listens to music with you, plays sports with you, takes you to ballgames, talks philosophy and pontificates on the world with you, and continuously shares his wisdom with you. A father who is never too busy with work or other matters to spend generous heaps of time with you. I was fortunate enough to have had such a father during my formative years and before Alzheimer’s took him away.

My dad was not a religious man; he was a humanist who saw through religion to its heart: “The bottom line of all religions,” he would say, “is to be a good person.” To that effect, his favorite book and film was To Kill A Mockingbird, and I still remember watching it with him when I was 12 years old. And I saw him practice those same social justice values regularly, such as by picking up little old ladies from the bus stops and driving them to their destinations or doing wills for almost nothing for people dying in the hospital who needed them. His love of Jackie Robinson was yet another vehicle for his social justice lessons and his passionate love of baseball, which I share to this day.

Virtually everything I do with my own son, Bailey, is because of my father. Bike riding together, playing sports together, watching movies with powerful morals (yes, Lightning McQueen did honor his friends in the end of Cars), talking about the true, bare existential facts of life.The best way to explain what my father meant to me is that I always felt like I was “enough” when I was around him; he never made me feel like I needed to do or be more. And he was certainly enough for me.