I am among the fortunate souls who walked with my dad beside me for 53 years, until this past Sunday. He was never the kind of father to do “kid” things much…no playing on the playground or reading on laps; it was on his lap, however, where I learned to call trump in Euchre and Pinochle, and shoot the moon in hearts. Dad never went shopping for presents (except Valentine’s Day) or shared advice with me about boys; he did, though, teach me how to sing into my saxophone, how to converse with just about anyone, and his quick wit kept all of us laughing. Dad never helped me with homework (because he was usually still at work himself, never missing a day. Not. One. Ever.), though he will always remain among the smartest people I know. My dad had his demons…don’t we all…he only said I love you when I said it first…but a day never went by that I didn’t know I was loved by him. Not. One. Ever. I said it to him often, not to hear it back, but to be sure he knew HE was loved. So cherished and loved for everything he was…and wasn’t. So long, Dad.