On top of that, it turns out that he was probably not my natural father, something I learned long after all the principals in that drama – him, my mother and my natural father – had passed away (another story I tell in Acts of Surrender).
And yet I carry his name, and of the three fathers I have experienced in my life, he is the only one I ever think of as "Daddy."
So on this Father's Day, nearly a half-century after his death, I share this tale of love and reconciliation, adapted from Acts of Surrender...
It's August 11, 1997. After nearly two months of full-time road travel, Roxy (my cocker spaniel) and I check into the Shilo Inn in Boise, Idaho. Once I get Roxy situated, I change into my bathing suit and settle into the white-tiled steam room that is a fixture in many of the chain’s properties.
I have no plans, other than to shut my eyes and relax into the steam. But after a few minutes, I feel another presence in the room. I open my eyes and peer through the clouds of steam. I see no one.“Hello?”
No answer.
I close my eyes again. Immediately, I sense a white-robed man staring at me from across the room. He is tall, dark-haired, with a trim beard and mustache and a muscular build. A gold coronet rests on his head.
“Who are you?” I ask silently.
“My name is Arctur,” I sense rather than hear.
“Right,” I think dismissively. My mind is playing tricks on me.
“This is no trick. I am Arctur,” he repeats.
A silent conversation ensues, but for how long I cannot say. Time has no meaning among the mystical swirls of steam.
“There is someone here who wants to speak with you,” Arctur says after a while.
I wait.“Because this is so close to the anniversary of your father’s death...”
Suddenly I sense my father’s presence. My heart starts to race.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the father you wanted me to be,” I hear my father say. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you in all the ways you deserved.”
I begin to sob.
“But I loved you and still love you,” he continues. “And I’m so proud of what you are doing and who you are becoming. I couldn’t be a role model for you, but you are now a role model for me. I’m watching you. I’m with you. I’m learning from you. Thank you.”
Moments later, still crying, I sense that Arctur and my father have left. I open my eyes. The steam room is empty. I wipe my face, collect myself and return to my room.
How close to the anniversary is it? I fire up my laptop and open my file of significant dates.
As close as it can be. My father died 29 years today — August 11, 1968.
Adapted from Acts of Surrender: A Writer's Memoir
© Mark David Gerson
• • • Get your copy of Acts of Surrender today – on most Amazon sites, from select other online booksellers, from my website (signed to you, while supplies last) or from your favorite ebook store
• • I share a different kind of Father's Day story – this time I'm the father – in this Acts of Surrender excerpt on video: "Guinevere, My Daughter" – https://youtu.be/M-1vgCCj_04.
• Photos (long before I was born) – My parents, around 1940 or 1941, and a family gathering in the later 1940s
• • I share a different kind of Father's Day story – this time I'm the father – in this Acts of Surrender excerpt on video: "Guinevere, My Daughter" – https://youtu.be/M-1vgCCj_04.
• Photos (long before I was born) – My parents, around 1940 or 1941, and a family gathering in the later 1940s
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received two years' worth of rejections from 26 publishers for her novel 
