"Days Were Golden"

I know...awesome pants, right? (The couch is pretty good, too, though.)

Pardon me while I brag about my dad for a minute. That's him with my older brother, sometime in the late '70s in the picture above. I've always liked this picture, for several reasons. First of all, it's a picture of my dad, but secondly — yeah, aside from the laughable fabric patterns — is that it depicts a patient father, who had been engaged in reading the newspaper, taking a break to make time for his son.

My dad died when I was sixteen.

Although it was quite difficult for me when he died, it seems like something new happens to me every year to make me wish (aside from the obvious reasons) that he was still around — graduating high school (barely), graduating college (finally) and getting married were all events I wish he could have been there to see.

Boy, can you see this one coming, or what?

Having Connor has been, hands down, the best thing I've ever done — except for winning that sixth grade speech contest...girls love a practiced orator — but it's been hard not to have my dad here to see it and tell me what a kickass kid I produced. (Although, Mr. Presbyterian minister might have used softer language and would have preferred I do likewise.)

He was by far the most patient and giving person I have ever known — moreso than I could ever hope to be, and I think about those traits often when Connor is flinging Matchbox cars at the back of my head from the backseat on car trips (with surprising accuracy), or dumping his lunch on the floor when he's sore about something.

Honestly, I never once questioned "why" when my dad died; It was out of my hands so I just accepted it and tried my best to move on. Now that I have a son of my own, though, I can't help but wish that Dad was still around.

Besides, maybe he'd give me his plaid pants.