Today would have been my Father’s 74th birthday. While I do think of my Dad often, on this day it usually catches me off guard a little because I forget that he’s not around any more. I can’t simply pick up the phone and hear his voice, or visit, or sit by the wood stove in the basement of our old house and complain about how society is going to hell like we used to.

However, the memories of doing all of those things still exist. I can pull them up with an immediacy and a clarity that surprises me, given that he’s been gone for almost 5 years. Over time, these memories have acquired a soft focus, a glow that’s smoothed out any imperfections and left me with memories that are still very real, yet surreal at the same time. My Dad is my moral compass, and I miss him very much. I’m glad that he’s still with me, in some way. Happy birthday, Pop.