My dad

I have to post this quickly, before my office computer heads off to the Evil Kingdom of Hagadonia for some badly-needed repairs. My dad died thirteen fourteen years ago today. (All these years I've thought it was March 21 until my ex e-mailed to remind me. Social Security confirms that it is indeed today.) That's his high-school picture at right.

I've written about my dad in other places, particularly here. (Warning to family: It's not a hagiography. Read it at your own risk.) Every year I fully intend to write about him at length on Father's Day, and every year I find I have so much to say I can't turn it into a blog post. I've been in contact with some guys who served at the same time and place as him in Vietnam, and while I haven't found anyone who actually remembers him personally, I've gotten so much help from some of the vets in trying to locate men from his unit that it's been a really humbling experience. That, too, is material for another post.

So I'm not going to write anything extensive this time. Just that I loved him, and I miss him, and I think he'd be pleased with the crop of ten grandkids he's accumulated so far. If you can measure a man by his descendants, or by the people who loved him, then my dad's a success.

(Thanks for the heads-up, Danette. And thanks to my Aunt Pam for correcting my arithmetic. It'll be another month before I get used to it being 2008.)