He liked a cigarette with his second cup of coffee.
He liked tennis.
He liked golf ... and it frustrated him.
He loved ice hockey.
He missed Ted Williams and Milt Schmidt.He liked Frank Howard and Sonny Jurgensen.
He fell asleep in his rocker-recliner.
I never saw him in jeans. I never saw him in a T-shirt. He wore boxers.
He liked his Jaguar and his Fiat Spider.
He liked to grill.
He liked maple walnut and butter pecan ice creams.
He had freckles across his shoulders.
He was a Marine.
He liked to whip potatoes. And pancake batter.
He didn't like the beach.
I never remember him raising his voice.
He tossed footballs and teed up golf balls.
He met us at the bus and took us to see the Senators.
He drove us home after we'd fallen asleep in the car.
He was outspoken at work, or so I have perceived, and it may have cost him.
He would have loved laptops and iPads.
He climbed to the roof to rotate the TV antenna so we could watch locally blacked-out games on a more distant station.
Neighbor kids bugged him.
He loved Christmas.
He didn't call his Mom often enough, but loved reuniting with his sisters and brothers.
He laughed at Cheers.
He played along with Jeopardy and the $10,000 Pyramid.
He squirmed during Jaws.
He whistled Strangers In The Night.
He took me to a lacrosse game and a hockey game in the same day.
He still gives me confidence to be in the spotlight.
He told this joke once: A driver picks up a hitch-hiking hippie. They come to an intersection. "See anything," said the driver. "Just a dog, man" said the hippie. The driver pulls out and ... CRASH. They come to in the hospital. The driver says, "I thought you said it was just a dog." Says the hippie, "Yeah, man, it was. A Greyhound, man."
He laughed with his mother-in-law for many years.
He loved my mom.
He would have been 80 today.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
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