Dad.

So, an old friend's father died yesterday morning. I was already thinking in general terms of mortality since my wife's cousin died recently (my wife donated a kidney to her shortly before we met, which I'll forever be proud of her for, even though I didn't know her, then. The Queen indeed), but this made me think specifically about my own father, who will be dead two years in mid-March.

He basically died from smoking. So, stop smoking people. But I'm not trying to preach here, only trying to remember some of the good things that I miss about the guy.

I miss how gung-ho he was in to computers. And surprisingly competent at it, considering his age and general aversion to technology (he would NOT use an ATM, for instance). He did have the problem of incorrect terminology which made trouble shooting fun, though. He was also an ALL CAPS GUY until I broke him of that habit.

I miss his stupid jokes. That he would never fail to tell. Regardless of the company. He was a "pull my finger" guy. And damnit if I didn't pull that finger every time.

I miss how he would take no shit. Even if I was the one shovelling it.

I miss the M in his hair. His hairline was receeding in to an M shape.

I miss how he stuttered vowel sounds after his stroke. That sounds kind of cruel, but it was endearing to me for some weird reason.

I miss how he'd tag team with me against Mom. That poor woman never had a chance.

I miss how he simply seemed to accept the fact that I was old enough to curse in front of him. I dropped a cinder block on my foot, and then dropped an f-bomb. He asked "what did you just say?" and my response was "you *bleepin* heard me! I dropped a cinder block on my foot, what do you want me to say, oh darn?" He laughed and from then on, I casually cursed in front of him. Which was nice, because I like to curse like a pirate.

I miss how he looked like someone took Gene Hackman and Wilferd Brimley and smashed 'em together.

I miss his cooking. He never got anything right, but it was still delicous. I take that back. His spaghetti sauce was brilliant. It wasn't completely made from scratch, but pretty close to it. He'd wake up at 5-6 am and start cooking it up, let it simmer all day...that was good shit, man.

I miss how he'd lumber around the house like a zombie while half asleep.

I miss his laugh.

I'd miss his stories about his mother, especially the one where she threw a knife at him. She was an old school Italian mamma, boy. You didn't eff with her, and my dad, the way he told it, effed with her a lot.

I miss how he would, in lieu of sticking out his tongue, would stick his dentures out at me.

I miss how balked at me getting my ear pierced at a young age, but would always say "but if you wanna get a tattoo, I'll take you down myself." Now I have both, though more tattoos than piercings. That reminds me, I always said I was going to get a tattoo in his honor, I should look in to that in the future.

I think that's all I'm really willing to say now.