(no subject)
Today should have been my father's 66th birthday. I don't think I can really sum things up better than I did 2 years ago, so I'll just repeat myself.
It's March 5th. Today should have been my father's (66)th birthday. We should be packing Kaia up to spend the day at Grandma and Grandpa's house, and he should be able to play his guitar or his horribly out of tune piano for her, read her stories, play silly games, and generally let her wrap him around her little finger. Instead, he died before she was born, and all I have for her is stories.
Ken McNeill Jr. was born in Dallas, Texas, but spent most of his childhood in Geneva, Switzerland. He was brilliant, funny, playful, strong, and could outrun all the kids in the neighborhood. In a gathering of people, he was most likely to be found sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the kids, the dogs or the cats. He hated coffee, loved Coca-Cola, and was much more interested in potatoes than steak. His favorite vegetables were brussels sprouts and lima beans, he detested broccoli and asparagus.
He was a super-champion garage sale master, and could scrounge the most fascinating stuff. He was a poster-child of brand loyalty - the Victorinox Swiss Army knife, Volkswagons, anything published by DK or Oxford press. A bibliophile and a lexiophile, he owned over 30 dictionaries. In addition to his passionate love of the English language, poetry and fiction, he also loved science, technology and mathematics. He loved to play soccer and basketball, skiing, boating, camping, and hiking.
When he died (9) years ago this month, part of me was glad. The pain and the confusion were too much for him, and I didn't want him to hurt anymore. But there's a hole in my life where he should be, and it isn't fair.
Still love you. Still miss you more than words can say.
It's March 5th. Today should have been my father's (66)th birthday. We should be packing Kaia up to spend the day at Grandma and Grandpa's house, and he should be able to play his guitar or his horribly out of tune piano for her, read her stories, play silly games, and generally let her wrap him around her little finger. Instead, he died before she was born, and all I have for her is stories.
Ken McNeill Jr. was born in Dallas, Texas, but spent most of his childhood in Geneva, Switzerland. He was brilliant, funny, playful, strong, and could outrun all the kids in the neighborhood. In a gathering of people, he was most likely to be found sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the kids, the dogs or the cats. He hated coffee, loved Coca-Cola, and was much more interested in potatoes than steak. His favorite vegetables were brussels sprouts and lima beans, he detested broccoli and asparagus.
He was a super-champion garage sale master, and could scrounge the most fascinating stuff. He was a poster-child of brand loyalty - the Victorinox Swiss Army knife, Volkswagons, anything published by DK or Oxford press. A bibliophile and a lexiophile, he owned over 30 dictionaries. In addition to his passionate love of the English language, poetry and fiction, he also loved science, technology and mathematics. He loved to play soccer and basketball, skiing, boating, camping, and hiking.
When he died (9) years ago this month, part of me was glad. The pain and the confusion were too much for him, and I didn't want him to hurt anymore. But there's a hole in my life where he should be, and it isn't fair.
Still love you. Still miss you more than words can say.