The way he used to put mayonnaise and spicy mustard on hot dogs and then act as if that shit was the ultimate hook up.
His laugh…and the outrageous sense of humor that fueled the laughter of all who knew him.
How he mowed the lawn…meticulously moving up the length of it and then down with a level of geometric perfection that probably wasn’t all that healthy. Fuck it – it gave him joy!
That he was almost genetically incapable of following recipes…and how he never gave up on his belief that adding coffee to box cake mixes made all the difference in the world.
How he worried…the way he worried…as if he had all the faith in the world that we’d make it through whatever it was but hated that we had to do it.
The scent of Scotch and cigarettes…of outside, sun, water and nature…of smoke from the grill or oil from the car.
Scene upon scene…moment tumbling into moment, so dear that words fail to capture the precious joy within every one of them.
But oh, if I hear a certain song…then we’re hanging out at the doughnut shop again – he with coffee and me with hot chocolate.
I’ve only to smell fresh cut lumber…and we’re hitting the hardware store again so that he could tackle this or that or just shoot the shit.
And I’ve only to look at my siblings…my beloved sister and brother…to see my father in them.
He is well missed and fondly remembered today as always.
Happy Father’s Day!