Stopping

If my dad had died in 2003 like he was supposed to, I would've remembered him as a caring, hardworking man. It would not have been a bad memory. Still, I also would've remembered him as a man who never stopped, who didn't know a life existed outside of Type A personalities, and who planned to relax only upon his death.

Dad didn't die in 2003, and for that I'm still pretty damned amazed and thankful. What's more amazing, though, is the effect a near-death experience can have on a guy. Dad is still cantankerous, impatient, and curmudgeony. But, sometimes, when he is alone, he stops. Today, when he thought the rest of us had walked on to look at a potbellied pig, he stepped off into a little grove. I was watching, but he didn't know it. I knocked off a couple quick shots as Dad proved there is time to stop and to...well, do what you're supposed to when you stop.



Sure, it's cliche, but it didn't take away from what it felt like to see my dad, alive and looking every bit of it.

My folks are in town for the weekend. My kid gives me a lot of joy, but there's not very much that makes me smile more than seeing how happy the boy makes his grandparents and vice versa. Here ends the sap. Well, after a couple of pictures.