My father grew up in Albany during the 1930s and 1940s — an era that in his stories seemed like a mythical time. He was one of nine children and inherited the gift of gab from his mother. Dad's warmth was infectious and many of his childhood friendships lasted throughout his life. Dad saw someone he knew almost everywhere he went. Dad's stories about sports and his Army days were entertaining no matter how many times you heard them.

Dad instilled in his five children the importance of family and community and the responsibilities we had to each. During my adolescence, the term "finding yourself" was in vogue. Dad was bemused by people needing to find themselves, noting that he found himself at age 18 trudging through snowdrifts reading meters.

At 57, Dad was a walking time bomb with diabetes, high blood pressure, and a family history of heart disease. His second act began on a cold January day when he suffered a heart attack. When I saw him in the hospital, his face was ashen and he looked scared. The heart attack marked a turning point in his life. He had been a heavy smoker for 35 years, but never smoked again. "When they tell you that you're going to the cardiac care unit, cigarettes lose their appeal," he later explained.

Dad started walking and adjusted his diet. Eventually, he became a passionate race walker, which opened up new horizons for him. Dad competed in races throughout the Northeast, including the Empire State Games and the Senior Games. He won numerous medals and collected enough t-shirts to stock a sporting goods store. Dad coached other race walkers and became a track and field official. He became active in the Hudson Mohawk Road Runners Club and served as the race director for its New Year's Day race, which bears his name.

After the heart attack, Dad saw each day as a gift, and often remarked, "A good day is when I open the paper and don't see my name in the obituaries." My parents began traveling and Dad became a rock and roll fan. He attended many concerts, including James Taylor, Hair of the Dog, and Rod Stewart.

Dad's healthy lifestyle improved his cardiovascular health and helped to control the diabetes, but he ultimately faced the more difficult challenge of cancer. Cancer rarely encountered a more determined adversary; he beat back the disease's first two forays. Dad confronted cancer with the same courage and grace that he had displayed after his heart attack.

Throughout chemotherapy, radiation, and surgeries, Dad kept his sense of humor and zest for life. He continued race walking and won a silver medal at the Empire State Games several months before his death. Dad entertained staff and patients at the oncology office with stories, jokes, and quips. My favorite was directed at his oncologist, "I don't mind sending your kids to college, but I'm not going to buy you a Porsche."

Like any cancer patient, Dad dealt with setbacks and gloomy times, and it especially upset him to see children and young adults with the disease. Watching Dad cope with his health challenges, I saw firsthand that life is both precious and fragile. During the last phase of his life, Dad truly "found himself." He showed family and friends how to make every moment count and how to handle adversity with resilience and fortitude. Dad gave our family many gifts, but these final lessons continue to resonate nearly 20 years after his death.

William Hogan is an Albany freelance writer.