A Father’s Day Snapshot

Daddy and me

The photo above was developed in December of ‘58. Since the Polaroid instant camera had yet to come into our lives, there’s no way to tell for certain when the picture was taken. But, given that I’m wearing a coat and hat, it might well have been snapped in December, so I’d have been a little over two years old.

Another thing you can’t tell from this image is how much my daddy loved me and how much I loved him right back. I might not have been his biological child, but he adored me. I’ve always thought it was a good thing we didn’t have much money because I truly believe he’d have turned me into an entitled brat. He had trouble telling me “no.”

Daddy came to live with Studly Doright and me in the last couple of years of his life, and I learned more about him in that time than I had in all the previous years put together. We had some good talks about life and love and what makes for a good grocery store and his antics whilst stationed in Japan during his navy days and famous people he’d met while driving a cab in Los Angeles and how to win at blackjack and which club he should have used on the fourth tee box at the Floydada country club during the annual men’s tournament and just about anything else that popped into his head.

To some folks’ way of thinking, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about Gerald Hall. He didn’t have a degree. His ancestral tree didn’t include any persons of note. He never built a house on a hill or had a fancy car. But he was kind and funny and generous. He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a fondness for risqué jokes. He loved my brothers and our mom and me. And we loved him. I miss him every day.

Happy Father’s Day.


It’s been a little over a year since the world lost Chris Cornell. I’ll confess that I only knew of him through my daughter’s sweet sister-in-law Steph, who adored Chris and his music. Since Chris’s death I’ve paid attention to his incredible talent.

Yesterday I was listening to Howard Stern on SiriusXM when they played a song released by Chris’s daughter, Toni, for Father’s Day. I sat in my driveway and sobbed. It’s beautiful and so poignant. Hopefully you’ll be able to utilize the link below to hear what moved me so.


Love your people. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

Peace, people.

Happy Father’s Day

This was originally posted on Sunday, June 17, 2016.

Gerald Delane Hall 







Great grandfather
A special man, my dad, not perfect, heck, he didn’t even try to be. But he was fun:

–Teller of inappropriate jokes, and a gambling fool.

–Measurer of miles in terms of six packs consumed.

–Lacking political correctness, yet treated everyone as an equal.

–Maker of friends wherever he went.

–Soft of heart.

–My biggest fan.

I miss this man. 

A Special Gift

  For a combination Mother’s/Father’s Day gift our daughter had this made for Studly and me. It’s a beautiful reminder of all we’ve been through and of just how far we’ve come.

The border lists all the places we’ve lived in our marriage. In the lower right hand corner the names of our children and grandchildren are written. All around our names are our interests and Studly’s famous sayings, “Don’t say whoa in a mud hole,” “Second Sucks,” and “Can’t never could.” 

The “Really, Really” is how Studly signs his cards to me. He’s been doing so since before we married. The one time he forgot I thought he wanted to leave me. 

Notice the cow in the upper right hand corner. That represents Salem Sue, the huge Holstein that adorns a hill outside New Salem, North Dakota, where we lived for 18 months. The town, not the hill; although, I always told people we lived behind the left udder.

The remainder of the picture contains little bits of our lives, our hobbies and activities. Studly golfs. I drink wine. We both follow the Dallas Cowboys and ride motorcycles. Oh, and we both look like idiots trying to climb out of our kayak.

When I get old, this will be my touchstone, my connection to our past. What a wonderful gift!

Daddy and the Perfect Bag

Every day I spend a little time thinking about my Daddy. I don’t plan to; it just happens. He was quite a guy, and he impacted our lives in many ways.

Studly Doright and I were privileged to have Daddy live with us the last few years of his life, and it was a great experience for all of us; although, I’m sure Daddy often thought we were nuts. That’s ok, he was a little nuts, too.

Daddy loved golf and was in part responsible for Studly playing. But, by the time he moved to Melbourne, FL, where we lived at the time, Daddy’s COPD prevented him from hitting the course as much as he’d have liked. 

He still played a few times, though, even earning a “Closest to the Pin” trophy in a charity tournament.  Man, was he proud of that trophy! Any visitor to our home was invited to gaze on it in awe.

Long after Daddy stopped playing he would sit out in our garage imagining courses he’d played in years gone by and putting together the perfect set of clubs for a round of golf there. Often Studly would go looking for one of his clubs only to find it taking up space in Daddy’s “dream bag.”

“Gerald,” Studly would ask, “Have you seen my 5 wood?”

“Yeah, it might be in my bag,” Daddy would say. “I was thinking of number 4 at the Floydada Country Club. I thought I could reach the green with that 5 wood.”

Even now that Daddy has been gone for many years we still go looking in his bag anytime a club is missing, just in case he needed it for that perfect round.

Miss you Daddy. I hope you’ve got just the right clubs for whatever course you’re playing now.

Daddy holding his oldest great-grandson.


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