It's my father's birthday. He's been dead over a quarter of a century, but not to me. I feel his love and nurturance still. He was an amazing man who never accepted another person limiting his aim or ambition, and he accomplished a lot. In his private life, he got hamstrung by his desire to control, protect and save his family, and he was disappointed in himself and us, but only because he couldn't bear to see us suffer. His love of life was ferocious. He had pleasure in so many things: family, friends, work, golf, travel, investing, politics, jazz, bridge, swimming, tennis, gardening, barbequing. A lot of people loved him, and some hated him, because he was implacable. He could and would say the things that no one else would. If there was an elephant in the room, he introduced it. He was passionate about every minute of his day, and relentless in his quest to challenge himself and overcome fear. He had the courage of a lion. He had a great laugh, and loved to tell bad jokes. He sometimes was tasteless and often surprisingly tasteful. He was a patriarch of the old style. Family first, above himself, except when providing for us hurt us and helped his career. We were dragged along by his intensity. It was like being in the eye of the tornado.
It's quiet now, without him, but he's in my head and heart, and I always know, absolutely know what HE would say or do. I know his opinion. I don't follow his lead anymore, and have made a very different life for myself, but I respect him and his efforts on our behalf. And did I say he was sweet? He could be so tender and sweet and gallant. I always knew he adored me. I rested in that knowledge and his love.
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