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2003-09-11 - 9:16 p.m.

Well, it's been a year. For those of you just tuning in, my father died exactly 365 days ago. Yeah, on the 11th. There's a date I'm going to hate for the rest of my life. I spent the day in my apartment pretending the world didn't exist, for fear that I would hear some other piece of bad news today.

I miss my dad. he and I were never terribly close, but we didn't have a bad relationship, either, and unlike many people's fathers, at least he was around the entire time I was growing up.

WE didnt' see eye to eye on a lot of things, and we both did things the other one didn't like, and we had one of those guy relationships where all you talk about is sports and such, but I dont' feel like I left anything unsaid, really.

This last summer when I was at home, he and I made a daily tradition of watching The Price Is Right and Martha Stewart Living in the mornings, before we went off to do whatever we were going to do that day. That was nice.

I'm going to close this out with a funny story for you guys about how my parents met-

My mom was having her car fixed, and the company was jerking her around on the exact time they'd finish the repairs. they had loaned her a crappy beater, and she kept getting pulled over for not having a taillight or a rearview mirror, and by the second week of this, she was pretty pissed. She was moving out of her apartment (college) and had to be out by friday, and of course her car isn't ready. She bitches out the guys at the garage, up to and including ripping the phone out of the wall on a guy who was talking to his girlfriend (it runs in the family)

My dad, who didn't work at that garage, but worked at another one and was over visiting, offered to help her move. My mom, who didn't know him at all, said no and stormed off.

My dad gets in his truck and follows my mom back to her apartment, where he knocks on the door. My mom answers-

Mom- What are you doing here?

Dad- I said I'd help you move.

Whereupon my dad lets himself into the apartment, helps himself to a beer, and grabs a box to take out to his truck (funnily enough, a box belonging to my mom's roommate). My mom resigns herself to the fact that this guy isn't going to leave, so she has him load up the truck and follow her to my grandma's house where inside----

are my mom's four brothers and sister and their dog who hated everyone, but for some reason didn't bark at my dad when he came into the house and started unloading boxes.

This went on for a bit, until my grandmother came out of the kitchen to call for a headcount for dinner. She sees a strange man in her living room, holding a dresser drawer. An awkward moment ensues. My grandmother is expecting an introduction, and the only thought running through my mom's mind is, "Oh shit, I don't know this guys name!"

After a moment, my dad sets the drawer down, walks over and shakes my grandmother's hand, and says, "My name is Darrel Dillon, and yes, I will be staying for dinner."

I laughed my ass off when I first heard that one. Now you know where I get it from.

I miss you dad.

Win spectacularly or lose horribly- it's a family tradition.

Ken

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