A ham radio license makes me feel safer as someone with hemophilia

“Whiskey-Bravo-six-Zulu-Yankee-Yankee looking for a radio check,” my dad called out into his faithful Kenwood handheld 2-meter radio.

“W-B-6-Zed-Y-Y, I hear you loud and clear,” came an answer from radio land.

This was my dad’s call sign — the constant background noise of my youth. Ask any childhood friend who spent extended time at my home; Dad’s call sign is ingrained in their memories, too. It was a comfort to hear it.

My father didn’t go anywhere without his amateur (ham) radio. As a person with severe hemophilia, he felt safer knowing he had a way to communicate in an emergency. That was long before cellphones existed.

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