I have many memories of my dad.
A lot of them of him asleep in a chair in the evening after long hours providing for the family.
He and I were never friends or buddies as I was growing up.
Often, he was who my mom spoke of when she'd say:
"Wait til your father gets home.",
something I did not look forward to at those times.
But he transferred to me many of his positive qualities and I hear his voice when I speak.
That's not a bad thing.
I got to know him a lot better in the years before his death when we spent every Saturday together as the six months he was given to live stretched into six years.
I miss him, but I will see him again because of the grace and mercy of our mutual Father.