He taught me my first guitar chords. He taught me how to change the oil in my 1966 Impala. He taught me the meaning of work, and he was an expert at that. He did whatever it took to keep a roof over my head, a shirt on my back, and food on my plate and to get me out into the world equipped to survive.
No, he wasn't perfect. But it seemed like the older I got the smarter he got, until one day he was old and not quite as tall or as strong any more as I'd once thought he was.
He was my dad.
I miss him.
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