November 18

Today is my dad's birthday.  He'd be 62 this year.  For those of you who never met my dad, all I can say is boy did you miss out.
My dad was a goof.  The king of the goofs.  The emperor of the goofs, really.  He was the kind of dad who rode my pink Huffy Sweet Thunder bike through our neighborhood because we couldn't fit kids AND the bike in the station wagon to get it to my grandparent's house and I wasn't allowed to cross the busy streets yet.  He was the kind of dad who played hide and seek in the house, but always hid in the furnace closet.  He told spooky stories starring a Big Black Toe that still give me the heebie jeebies.
But better still, he was the kind of grandpa who thought the sun rises and sets in his grandchildren.  As far as Poppa was concerned, my kids could do no wrong.  None.  And vice versa.  Oh the adventures they had, roaming our neighborhood, with the kids riding in my blue grocery cart because he couldn't figure out how to collapse my stroller.
Mind you, my dad was not without faults.  He was a Viet Nam vet, with PTSD and in otherwise poor health.  He had a short temper, and many times growing up, you weren't sure just which Dad you were getting.  But today is his birthday, and the awesome always outweighs the difficult. 
So, if you have a moment, raise a boneless rib sandwich in a toast to my dad...