In almost every way, I am like my dad. (Well, okay, not the bald part!) But in temperment, personality, and general nature, I see him inside me. He died in 1990, and I miss him a lot. I hear him sing at church, I smell his tobacco and greasy dirty hands, and I feel his ribs against me when I would hug him in his later years. He loved to whistle and sing; his whistle was kind of blowing with his teeth clenched together and lips apart, not the usual pucker. He was happiest when he was working; either on a car or in his yard.

I made him mad twice that I can remember. Once, I picked up a gallon of milk in a big thick glass gallon jug and promptly dropped it on the concrete. The other time, I took a black ink pen out of his lunchbox to do homework. That pen belonged to the U.S. Government and was not meant to be used outside the office. Didn't I know that...?

Jackie wrote about time on her blog today. If I could just manipulate one day, to go back and be with Daddy.... but I'll wait. I'll see him soon enough, and then time will not be a factor.