Dad

  Four years ago today my Dad died. What an odd thing to write. 

  Dad had a quirky sense of humor that I'm happy to say Alex has inherited. He always had a story, usually a lie, that would leave you shaking your head and laughing. Uncle Johnny used to kick him out of the house for his stories. But secretly would laugh til he cried while Dad drove away.

  Everyone had a nickname. Some from affection. Some because he didn't remember your name. Poor Lenny got the worst. And where Bick came from for Cindy I have no idea. Even the Priest in his eulogy mentioned the nicknames which drew a much needed laugh in the church.

  Growing up poor made a lasting impression on Dad. He never shied away from hard work. I remember him telling us how they were made fun of for taking lobster sandwiches to school. Only the poorest of the poor did that. Can you imagine!

  No matter what Mom gave Dad to eat, a slice of bread or the finest steak, he always said thank you. Always. Something so simple which we forget to do except when we are at someone else's house. I guess when you have gone to bed hungry that feeling never leaves you completely. When Riley slurps his soup, which he often does, and I try to correct his manners, he smiles and reminds me that "Papa said it was ok". How do I contradict that?

  Today I remember all the laughter, stories and good times we spent together. The card games. Drinking instant coffee at the table. The two minute phone conversations about how much snow we got. Talks about lobsters and the fisheries. Arguing about hockey. You know...the small things that make a life.

  Make memories. Hold them in your heart. And those who have died are never really gone.

  Ang

   **a real phone call between Dad and I about six years ago**
Me: What are you doing?
Dad: Building a henweigh.
Me: What's a henweigh?
Dad: Three or four pounds!