I never got to meet my dad, but he always seemed like a pretty cool dude. He worked as a carnie and magician, then became an electrician. He left some of his magic tricks behind in a little leather case. We’d bust out the flash paper and a miniature trick guillotine at parties.

You’ll notice I’m not listed in the obit. He died a few months before I was born. Accident at work involving an electrical engine and bad communication. I didn’t find out about him until I was eight. One day I saw him in a photo album and asked who he was. Talk about a mind-blowing revelation!

The idea of “Bill,” which is what we called him around the house in conversation, was cinematic and mysterious. A father you never knew, taken under mysterious circumstances. It felt like a setup for a magical adventure.

As I got older, people started being more honest with me about Bill. He had issues. A first marriage that didn’t work out. Drug problems in the 60s (but who can fault him there?). Nothing too horrendous, but at a Meeks family reunion somebody gave a speech calling him the “black sheep of the family”.

I heard about another side of him when I was in college. My mom’s brother, who had become good friends with Bill, told me about his charm, his kindness, and how much of a hit he was at parties.

Who was my dad? The magician? The black sheep? The fun guy with a family and stable gig? I’ll probably never really know. Bottom line? He’s a guy who got taken way too soon.

I wish I could have formed my own opinion of him. When I was a kid I used to imagine he was still out there somewhere, performing the dark arts in a cave in Europe. If he had shown up I probably would have been more mad than anything, so it’s probably best he stayed in that European cave.

I do think about him a lot though. I wonder what he would think of me and my family, including the son I named after him, just like he named me after his dad.

Happy Father’s Day, Bill.