interesting tidbits about my dad

He loved his job -- all his life. What a special gift.

Both of his grandfathers fought in the civil war.

He was friends with James Dean when he was a kid. (Dad was older.) Dad was into motorcycles, as was James Dean. Dad hung out at a place called Carter's Motorcycle Shop and James Dean did, too. Dad bought his first Indian from Carter's. Dean lived just down the road from Carter's. Dad always told us he taught James Dean how to ride. I would imagine it was him, along with others. James Dean also went to high school with my uncle.

Dad loved Indian motorcycles. He had two in his lifetime. He rode from Laramie, Wyoming to Indiana when he was young. In February. On a motorcycle.

Dad and I both shared a passion for family history. Dad took me to countless cemeteries in Indiana and we found our ancestors together. (Well, with my sister, her kids and Thomas came, too.)

Dad was a brilliant carpenter. He built his own house in Wyoming. He built many wonderful treasures. The last big thing he made was a harp for my sister.

Dad had a really great sense of humor. He cracked a good joke the night before he died.

He was a fountain of knowledge. He could answer any question. He gave excellent advice. He was very non-judgmental.

Dad was big-time into unions. He fought for the underdog. He served as a chairman for his local union for quite a few years.

He was a life-long democrat yet registered as a republican. When I asked him why, he said it was because he wanted to get mailings from the republicans so he could keep abreast of what they were up to.

When I was a small child, dad used to use the word dope instead of information. I'd hear him on the phone saying, "Get the dope to me and I'll look it over." I was mortified. As a kid, I knew what dope was, and in that generation it did not mean information.

Dad loved his grandkids. He was a great grandpa. He had a special bond with Thomas because Thomas loved trains.

Dad was a very equal and fair man.

He loved to eat, and he loved vegetables. His last real meal was spinach my sister brought him.

Dad was a marine. He quit school his senior year at 17 and joined up. He proudly served his country. (And may I add, the VA proudly served him in his final days. His death was met with great dignity.)

I could go on and on, but I won't. I am just in the throws of mourning, here, and want to scream to the world how great my dad was. Because he was.

I miss him.