Remembering Dad

Eight years. It doesn't seem possible that my Dad has been gone eight years. His presence is still so palpable. The memories are still there. They are not fading, but they are morphing into a ball of happiness. Instead of millions of individual memories, they are mushing together and the general thought of Dad is just a warm fuzzy feeling remembering all the happy and quirky moments. He definitely had quirks, but they are what made him he was. If you didn't know my Dad, no words can illustrate how great he was. If you did know him, no words are necessary.

We lit a memorial candle for him today and took turns telling a Dad memory. Mine was from our trip to Wisconsin when I was 15. It was just the two of us on the open road, exploring the state. We initially went there for the EAA Air Show in Oshkosh, but after three days of it, we got restless and went out exploring. Our adventures took us many places, including becoming a pit crew for a low budget stock car team at a local speedway one night. We learned how to do emergency brake turns with our rented Camaro at 50 mph on the open farm roads. (Sorry Hertz) He would wake me up in the morning by sneaking up on me (not hard to do with someone who is sound asleep) and launching me out of bed with one quick push.

He may have died at 62 years old, but he wasn't a day over 12. Some people never grow up and we're all better people for it. I miss him so much.