He was in my dream last night. It’s been about two-years since dad’s passing but he still inhabits my thoughts and dreams, especially as I’m feeling closer and closer to getting my life back to where it was before my illness threatened to take my mobility away. I’ve slowly been reclaiming my life and each step along the way I wonder what he would have thought or said. Silly things like finally getting someone to install my electric garage door opener reminded me of the pride in his voice when I told him about how I was adjusting to having my own garage after buying the townhouse in 2009. That was a long way from how he felt one weekend in the late 1970s when he sat me down and wanted me to circle all the jobs that I could get having just completed one-semester of college. Every parent worries about whether their kids are going to make it in the world and I’m sure that I drove dad crazy in that department. But over the long haul we developed mutual respect and affection. I guess he mellowed out a bit and came to see that I might actually do okay in life and I learned to not push his buttons, that there were more important things in life than winning the argument. I’m glad that he was there to share in my successes such as when I took the university teaching job even though it required that I move all the way across the country and greatly reduced our tequila celebrations. I miss him, but I know that I’m the continuation of everything that he hoped for in life, that my workaholic nature comes from him and that my stubbornness to work through my illness to full recovery comes from him (and my mom). Happy Father’s Day, dad.