Kinda sorta memorial

Today would have been my father's 60th birthday.

Since he died in November 1997, long before the world of blogs, I've possibly never even mentioned him here, and that seems wrong.

It's pretty difficult to describe him to someone who never knew him. There was something a bit different about him. Like maybe he existed in one more dimension than the rest of us or something. And he had one of the best bemused expressions of anyone I know.

He drank. A lot. He cooked. Well. He had an amazing way with little kids that makes me cry every time I think about him and my kids missing out on each other. And he taught us how to choose corn on the cob.

He never swore around the family. At least not until you were old enough to drink with him. It was at that point that I realised how impressive his skill was. To turn that on and off, even after 37 beers, was possibly something only a Catholic upbringing could create.

And at times, he showed the most incredible insight - said exactly the right thing to the right person at the right time. Then he denied having said it later. I doubt anyone knows why.

Obviously I can't sum up his life in a post, but I couldn't let the occasion pass without at least giving him a mention.

And I won't say "rest in peace", because I'd much rather imagine him shit stirring in some after life I don't actually believe in.