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It will be ten years this November since I lost Dad. I miss his sense of humor, his raunchy jokes, calling random people he met 'dudes & dudettes'. But what I miss most is that there was nothing he wouldn't do for me - like dressing up as the Devil on Halloween.
My Dad was the only person I ever knew who felt 100% comfortable in his own skin. He was the annoying guy who would spark up a conversation with you while in line at the grocery store - or waiting at a red light (seriously). But people liked him. I never met anyone who didn't.
He was friendly, charismatic, honest and willing to help anyone, at any type, whether he knew them a lot or barely at all. In my childhood, I think I had half my cousins come live with us at various periods of time because he took everyone in - even brothers he fought with.
He even invited the homeless over to feed 'em. That's what he did. He showed affection for everyone. And yet, he was tough. He was defensive. He would stand up, and protect, his family. You never wanted to cross my dad. He could be mean. Even to a fault. But he cared.
He was also quirky. My dad loved The Golden Girls and carried around a photo of Cher in his wallet for so many years. His favorite actor was Raymond Burr, and would watch hours and hours of Perry mason. His favorite musician was Barbra Streisand.
And he didn't care if people thought that was weird, or effeminate, because, as I said, my dad was the most comfortable man you'd ever meet. It's not that he didn't value peoples' opinions - he just never let 'em shape who he was. Even in his older years. Even as he was dying.
It's why, while in the hospital, he still referred to the doctors and nurses as Dudes & Dudetts or made jokes about his balls. That's just the man he was. If you didn't like it? Well no skin off his back. But rarely did anyone not like it because he was real.
