Niranjana, Melissa and Andy Perdue

July 1 is a day wrapped inside a lot of emotion for me. From a chronological standpoint, here's why:

July 1, 1989

This was my first day at the Tri-City Herald. After 10 long months working at a newspaper in Twin Falls, Idaho, I arrived in Kennewick on June 30, figuring I was halfway home to Western Washington. On July 1, I awoke at the Clover Island Inn, got a copy of the newspaper and searched the classifieds for an apartment with same-day move-in. I found a one-bedroom place for $225/month, moved my pathetic pile of stuff in, dropped off the trailer at U-Haul and headed to the Herald for my first day of work.

That first day went fine until about midnight when I got in my car to go home. A problem arose in the fact that I'd left all the paperwork on the location of my apartment on my new kitchen table. I knew it was in Kennewick, possibly near a high school. But it was dark, and my last name translates to "lost" in French. I drove around for nearly two hours until I finally located my apartment complex and quickly fell asleep.

Like many folks who show up at the Tri-City Herald and hundreds of other mid-sized daily newspapers across America, I figured I'd put in two years, earn a big dose of experience, then find a job closer to home. Here I am - 19 years later - content in my career and happy with my life.

July 1, 1995

I met Melissa O'Neil in August 1991, when she was hired on as a reporter at the Herald, fresh out of Pacific Lutheran University and an internship at The Seattle Times. Like any young, pretty, single and female addition to the newsroom, Melissa was deluged with offers of romance. Fortunately, she had a personal rule against dating co-workers, so I waited for her to shoot down all others' hopes before making my move.

Yeah, I got shot down, too. But unlike the others, I was a true believer in love at first sight, and I didn't give up. For three years, I asked her out. Along the way, we became great friends. Finally, we began dating in July 1994. It's debatable whether I wore away her will to say no or she came to her senses, but we were engaged by early November, when I drove her to the Oregon Coast and proposed at sunset in the shadow of Haystack Rock.

On July 1, 1995, certainly one of the hottest days on record in Portland, I stood at the altar with my brother, Joe, as my best man, and Melissa became my wife.

I had no idea where life would lead us after that. We've enjoyed vacations throughout the Northwest and around the globe. We're both fortunate to have in-laws we not only tolerate but even love and enjoy spending time with. She puts up with my passions for wine and technology, always supporting them and often pushing me beyond my own goals.

I know I'm the luckiest person around. You might think it's you. You're wrong.

Surely, we could not have imagined the joy and honor we feel to be Niranjana's parents. Our lives together have been one happy occurrence after another, and our daughter's love is the proverbial icing.

July 1, 2007

A year ago, I lost my dad. I'm certain he would not have picked this day if it had been up to him. But it isn't a number on a calendar that makes me sad; rather, it's the fact that he missed meeting his first grandchild by just 10 weeks. Dad's wants and needs in life were simple and straightforward, and he lived his life without regrets. I'd have to think that one of them would have been that he never got to hold Niranjana on his lap. That's certainly one of mine.

My relationship with Dad was not terribly complicated. He was always a central part of my life growing up. He always made sure he spent time with his boys, whether it was coaching us in baseball or basketball or playing golf with us. I probably got mad at Dad now and then, but I sure can't remember any such time. He loved to tell the story about how he once spanked me when I was quite young. Apparently, I looked up at him through the tears and declared, "Someday, I'll be bigger than you!" According to Dad, he never spanked me again, leaving that chore to Mom.

I loved going to ballgames with Dad. Often, I was playing in them and he was in the dugout as the coach. He never rode me too hard, but I never gave him much reason to. During my years playing baseball and basketball, I suffered more than my fair share of broken bones and sprained ankles. I vividly recall the trips to the emergency room - still in my uniform - and Dad calling Mom from a pay phone, informing her we'd be home late. Again.

As the coach, Dad would select the team MVP and most-improved player each season. I was the coach's son, so I knew there was pressure on him to pick other dads' kids, and I was OK with that. One season, however, I made marked improvements in basketball, and he decided to give me the most-improved award. I don't doubt he caught flak for it, but he knew I deserved it, and he didn't particularly care what others thought.

As I've written in past missives, Dad was an avid golfer. I've always liked golf, though not nearly at the level of Dad or Joe. Starting when I was in eighth grade, Dad and I would arise every Saturday and Sunday before dawn and make our way to Gold Mountain Golf Course for 18 holes. Dad took the game seriously and worked his handicap down to a five for several years. I got it as low as an eight while I was a senior in high school, but that was it. I had the ability to play, just not the zeal.

Dad followed my newspaper career with great interest, starting when I joined the school paper in junior high. He offered constructive criticism or advice only when asked and enjoyed sharing stories about his own career (though not as much as golf stories). On more than one occasion, he suggested I consider a career where I could make a fair wage, but I know he was glad I followed in his (and his father's) footsteps. It's a legacy I'm proud of.

Dad was always funny about holidays. He was good with birthdays, Thanksgiving and Christmas, but he figured Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day and the like were made up by Hallmark so we'd all go spend money with them. He saw them as just days on a calendar, or so he liked to say.

I think about Dad a lot, especially as I learn to be a good daddy for Niranjana. I don't know that I'll think about him more every July 1 just because that's the day he passed away. It's just a day on a calendar, and he meant so much more to me than that.