six years

He may not have known it while he was here, but he was one of my favorites. Now, I can barely remember the scent of his aftershave and the sound of his voice. It’s part of the reason why Christmas is one of my favorites, too. When he sang, he sang loud and clear. His voice resonated high above most and sounded just how I pictured home to look. It’s one of the things I miss the most.

As a kid, most of the time I tried to stay out of his way, as I have always been one to avoid conflict, yelling and confrontation at all cost. Not to say he wasn’t a gentle man, but his fuse was a bit shorter than what my faux child bravery could allow. I remember sitting on the dock with my feet hardly grazing the water and listening to him as he whistled away while working in his various flower beds or outdoor project. I remember many funny stories like the time I drank (the immediately threw up) his spitter or the time I ate an entire watermelon because I had one piece too many and thought that if I ate the whole thing he wouldn’t remember that we bought one in the first place. I remember the countless hours we spent in the wood shop where I would watch him set poison for the mice then turn and teach me the ways of maple, oak and pine. The smell of wood shavings still reminds me of him.

There are many times, even now, where I want to call him and tell him a story or ask him a question then realize a split-second later that it’s not possible. He played with all us kids to our hearts content and always had a story, an anecdote or a piece of advice to expel on those around. He was a great many things to a great many people; co-worker, boss, father, husband, brother, uncle, friend.

To me he was an ear-biter and a beard-stubble scratcher. An insulin taker, a gardener, a shaper of wood and whistle, a dashing smile, an infectious persona, an instant laugh and an even quicker cry.


He was my Papa Two Toes and always will be.