My dad died 4 1/2 years ago. At the time I decided, for a variety of reasons, to not talk about him or his passing. I didn’t want to depress my friends, (I’ve been through phases where I just prattled on and on about my problems and didn’t want to do that any more) and I would do just about anything to avoid crying in public.

My dad was born premature and died on my mother’s birthday. He was an artistic kid who had an unhappy childhood. He lied about his age so he could enlist and fight in WWII. He graduated from Ohio State University, and went on to earn a Ph.D. from Florida State University, probably the first in his family to graduate college in some time. He was a lieutenant colonel in the Army.

Dad was a bit vain. He cared about his patients - managed to get a number of bicycles donated to the children’s mental health hospital where he worked in the early 80’s, for example. He was obsessed with exercise. He spoiled his only daughter. He was very difficult for my mother to live with. Helped his kid brother (who died a few days after Dad did) go to college. Was never very close to his son.

He loved wordplay and had an odd sense of humor. He had to have things his way. Made great French toast. Was interested in the metaphysical. Would talk to anyone he encountered. Wrote copious notes in books. Liked history and classical music. Talked a teenage mental patient out of a potential murderous rampage. Crossed the border into Hungary during the Hungarian Revolution, just to buy a set of beautiful colored glass goblets - I have three of them.

None of my friends (since grade 10) got to meet my dad. My friends’ dads have never had dinner with him. I never got to ask him what it was like for a kid with an obvious German name to be in the armed forces in WWII, or got to talk to him about psychological theories. All I can do is hope that he’s at peace, at last.

So, sorry to bore you with all that, hopefully I’ll have something more entertaining to share next time.