Last week would have been my dad's 69th birthday.
He passed nine and a half years ago, and I miss him still.
I have days when I wish I could talk to him. For differing reasons, some days to ask what I was like as a child and sometimes just to find out the name of an actor or a movie.
I have moments when I wish I could share a movie or some music with him.
I miss his laugh.
I regret the way things were at the end.
I carried so much guilt, even though he and I were both wrong.
I loved the way my dad interacted with children. He was funny, and really listened when most adults didn't.
I love him for sharing his love of football, golf, jazz, books and learning. My dad had a respect for my inquisitive spirit. He taught me that it was ok to ask questions and look for answers--no matter what the subject.
My Daddy wasn't my hero, not exactly. I had no misconceptions about who he was. I knew he cheated on my mom, hadn't graduated school, got into trouble as a kid, started smoking in elementary school...I could go on but it doesn't matter. He was my Daddy. I loved him even though I did not like some things. I loved him and felt that he loved and understood me...until I came out.
Still, I miss him.
I miss him still.