Aw Dotsie, why did you stop?

My father was an intellectual. When my brother and I were small he didn't really know what to do with us. Later, when we were half-adults, our relationship intensified in a beautiful meaningful way. He taught me chess, read classical books to me, and we discussed politics to no end. We would go to bohemian coffee shops and play chess, drink wine, and listen to off beat music. At that time I often got to hear from my friends how they envied the relationship I had with my father.

Not only was he extremely handsome, (my Mom had to fight like the dickens to keep the women from him), but he had an European debonair charm. He always wore classy suits. His hair was long and black and he combed it back of his forehead like some kind of mafia boss. The only thing missing were spats…hah! He smoked Kent…are those cigarettes still around? When Marijuana was as popular as drinking beer, he asked me if he could try a joint with me. That knocked me through the loop, since his political views were ultra conservative.

He passed away when I was twenty-four. When I'm at a cross road in life, I always ask myself what would my father do,…and that often leads me to the right answer.