Father's Day

Historian for Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, N.J., Gary Boyd hugs his son, Mycroft, in this 1989 photo. "My father, Donald Boyd, grew up in Depression-era Chicago," Mr. Boyd said as he reflected on lessons learned from his dad for Father's Day. "He used to tell me stories about the tough times, and gangs he had to avoid. As a child I used to think how wonderful it was we had progressed so far as a society that we had rid ourselves of such brutal things as gangs and breadlines. One thing that history teaches us, though, is that humanity tends to repeat the mistakes and minimize the majestic. My father taught me there was no such thing as a day off. He was always helping someone, working on the house or cars. He was never too busy to help anyone—neighbors, strangers, family. He had been in the Army Corps of Engineers in the mid-1950s, working with the Air Force. The program was called SCARWAF (Special Category Army Reassigned with Air Force). Stationed at Wolters AFB, Texas, he worked on some of the nuclear test ranges. He left the service after two years, wanting to farm back home in Kansas. My father unfortunately contracted cancer in 1976, and died before he ever got to see his grandchildren. My son, Mycroft, was born 11 years later—the spitting image of his grandfather. Mycroft has always been a kind and generous boy; he helped the maintenance man at his daycare center when he was only 2 years old, dispensing tools and advice while the other kids did what kids generally do. Mycroft was so kind and mild-mannered, he was the only child I have ever seen play goalie in soccer with his hands in his pockets. Like my father, Mycroft is something of a mathematical genius; he graduated Magna Cum Laude in mathematics this past spring. Growing up in the Air Force family, I always had supervisors and co-workers who would let me take time when needed to drive Mycroft to advanced studies and special classes. I am saddened that my father never got to see his grandchildren—