Hi, Dad

Dad would have been 80 years old today, had he not died eight years ago.

There are times I wish he were still here, to see my kids growing up, to sit there in the living room,watching television with Mom, both of them ticking over their cares inside their heads but outwardly calm, serene, and, most importantly, together.

There are times I'm sure he's happier to be where he is now, knowing that we have cares and worries and such, but knowing, above all, that things will be well, pessimists be damned. (Personally, I object, as a pessimist, to attacks on optimism and hope. Those who attack optimism and hope as philosophies doomed to failure may as well just pull the plug now, because without hope, what else is there? Yes, we have to work for what we hope for. We can't dwell in the valley of vain hope. But we must hope, nonetheless.)

So I hope Dad is happy. Last dream I had about him was on the night our dog Moki died. I dreamed that Moki was running around a huge green field under a blue sky dotted with clouds, with hundreds of other dogs, cats, squirrels and other sundry furry critters of nature. Dad was there watching over all of them, just sitting in a chair, drinking a Pepsi. I'm sure the Pepsi wasn't actually in the dream, but I allow myself a little hope to fill in the details.