My Dad took me sailing when I was about four or five years old. We glided around a bay somewhere on a little Sunfish, skimming about among other small sailboats. The light must have been really golden that afternoon. I remember our wake painting the bay with yellows and silvers. That’s probably the first time I got to experience real magic. He knew what he was doing.
Dad was the kind of guy who sang Irish hymns at gatherings, sent his poems to friends, called often, answered every time no matter the hour, and worked his ass off yet still made us sit down together for dinner every night. He was the life of the party, cooking enormous feasts and sharing stories and laughs with everyone there. He was a master in literature, philosophy, fly fishing, and family. It’s been evident more than ever now that people all over the world got to know and love the same guy that I knew. He really was a best friend to everyone who knew him.
I miss you, Dad
@falconship
