The drawing by my friend and Steve Kropp is kind of an amalgamation of photos in his later life.
The photo is one of my favorite. In his younger years, college years and after, he had style that wouldn’t stop.
My Dad died when he was 54. I was as young as my second son. And I got home from Brazil I was the age of my oldest son. Talk about a tramatic few years. My Dad died. Eighteen months later I got home from Brazil. I had times when 4:00 pm rolled around and I expected my Dad to walk in the back door after coming home from work.
All that said. I knew my Dad died, and all the crying or wishful thinking was not going to bring him back. But, I learned very well before I left for Brazil and while I was in Brazil, cancer sucks.
But life goes on. If you’re born you die. And life goes on for everyone else.
My Dad didn’t want me to come back from Brazil for his last days or funeral. Plus I had pneumonia at the time. I was basically delusional at times.
Still the day my Dad was born is more important than the day he died. By the way, he died sometime in August of 93. I don’t know what day. That is not nearly as important that he was born. The only time a death day is important is if the person was such a bastard that everyone was glad to see them go. Stalin or some others.
My Dad was far from perfect. I can still remember things he said I really didn’t like, even thirty years + ago. But he was my Dad and he showed all of his children that he loved and cared a lot.
My sister doesn’t agree with me that my our dad was a pretty awesome dad but when she was little he made her a very cute outfit. He could sew. That may be part of the reason I wanted to learn to sew.
My siblings are probably tanted because they saw my Dad in the worst physical and mental condition. I wasn’t around during most of that time.
Still happy birthday Dad. It was good, it was bad, it was ugly at times. Can’t say I would want to do any of it again. But we went through it and life is still awesome.
