Franklyn Schoenberg
February 13, 1925 - September 28, 2003

People often said that my dad worked all the time. That his job was all-important and that he must love his work because that's all he did. What they didn't understand was what my dad's job was. If you asked him he'd tell you he was a patent attorney. But that wasn't really it.

I remember one Saturday night when I was just out of high school and working at a restaurant. Work ended around midnight, but instead of going straight home as I usually did some friends and I went to a pizza place. For whatever foolish reason I didn't call home and tell him I'd be late.

When I pulled in the driveway of our home at 3AM I noticed the light in my dad's office was still on. I felt badly for not calling, and was sure he would be angry with me.
I came up the stairs and as I passed his office he said hello to me and then gave his usual end of the day little groan and as if nothing was different than any other night. Pronounced that he was tired and going to bed and wished me a good night.

My dad's "work" for that day was finally done, but that work had little to do with patents or law. His job, the job that he worked at all the time, and the job that he loved, was taking care of my mom, Carol and myself.

He was always there for us, no matter what.

I couldn't have had a better dad.