Fathers Come in Many Forms

I learned to drive (a stick shift!) on a 1940 green pick up truck when I was 9 years old. I could throw a softball, shoot a B.B. gun, play 21 (basketball), and ride a motorcycle all thanks to My Dad, Bill, who died on Saturday of cancer. My Dad was an original. He had a temper, loved me unconditionally, thought salad was cool before it WAS cool, was an old-school S.O.B. and never apologized for anything. He was tough and taught me that life was tough - probably taught me much more than I want to admit about people, life and family. He was from the school of hard knocks - a life long Democrat, a little paranoid, and the government was ALWAYS bad. Ok, the reality was that he was difficult. The sad truth was that for many years, we haven't had a relationship. My choice (maybe his as well). Father relationships are much more complex than Mother relationships. Mothers are just there. Dads think they are people not just Dads, unlike Moms. Anyhow, I digress. I will always be grateful for the confidence, the stories, the sense of family, Irish pride (i.e., stubborn), and half siblings. Fubar, as my sister so eloquently says. (F'd up beyond all repair). Life goes on. It is what it is. I wish I had a picture. Sadly, I don't.