His Bronze Star hangs on the wall of my living room framed with its citation and his Good Conduct Medal and overseas chevrons.

The scrapbook his mother kept while he was in the Army and overseas is now part of my book collection.

And Father’s Day is still a hard day for me.

I receive the cards and gifts from my wife and daughter, and a call and wishes from my mother, but they seem hollow without my father being around to talk to.

Dad, who died in 1982, was a sales representative for an oilfield supply company and worked the oil patch in Louisiana, Mississippi, Arkansas and East Texas. He spent a lot of time on the road, which took him away from his family for weeks at a time, but he found ways to be there for school activities and to watch me and my brother play ball and my sister dance.

He was a humble man, who like most veterans did not talk about his experiences in World War II. When I asked about the Bronze Star he received for his actions as a combat medic on D-Day, he told me, “All the officers got Silver Stars and the enlisted men Bronze Stars.” It wasn’t until I read his citation that I realized how he received it.

Dad was like a lot of men who have been tagged, “The Greatest Generation.” A member of the local National Guard unit, he went on active duty in 1940 and stayed until 1945. He was a star athlete in high school and junior college, a fact backed up by the scrapbook my grandmother kept of his athletic exploits. After the war, he did not return to college, and I think it haunted and frustrated him, because I believe deep down he wanted to coach.

Despite those frustrations, he never pushed me or my brother to play sports. He had a unique philosophy which would be alien in this “win at all costs” atmosphere now surrounding sports: “If you want to play sports, do it because you want to, and when you play, have fun and enjoy it. When it stops being fun, get out.”

It was one of the few things he told me that as a young man I followed. Most of the time, I ignored his advice, thinking, “It’s just the old man and he doesn’t know much.” But like Mark Twain, I realized as I got older that Dad was a lot smarter than I thought, and some of that education came the hard way.

When Father’s Day rolls around, it’s the little things he did, like play ball with us, that mean the most. It’s the reason I can’t watch one of the best baseball movies of all time, “Field of Dreams.” I get emotional because I want the chance Kevin Costner got with his father at the movie’s end.

Dad, I miss you. Happy Father’s Day.

To those of you who can, have you called your father lately? I sure wish I could call mine.