My dad could be difficult. 

He could be stubborn, judgmental, and quickly annoyed. When he was ticked off, he called me $h*thead. He would toss rolls across a dinner table instead of passing the basket. He’d burp or fart just to get a reaction. He’d forget to put his teeth in and flirt with waitresses. He’d say mean things and wasn’t aware of the impact of his words. 

Some people couldn’t handle that. 

He was also funny, insightful, and way smarter than he gave himself credit for. 

When I was too little to go on Girls Scout camping trips, he would take me to museums: the Smithsonian, the Walters, the National. 

He introduced me to Glenn Miller music, Frank Sinatra, The Godfather movies, and Vincent van Gough. 

He didn’t always agree 100% with the decisions I made.  He was really ticked when I built a house with my then boyfriend. It took a few years, but he came around and referred to my eventual husband as his “good friend.”

We had great talks and cracked each other up. 

He loved that I got my Masters Degree (and had wanted me to go to law school). 

I miss experiencing his excitement when I reach a career milestone. 

In later years, he suffered from dementia. There was estrangement in our family, but he never realized it or understood why, even though he was blamed for it. 

But though all the difficult times, I always knew my daddy loved us and did all that he could for us. 

And for that I am eternally grateful.