My dad, may he rest in peace, was a big guy, who seemed to strike the fear of God in all of his daughters' male friends. Surrounded by women in his home, he couldn't wait for coffee and a smoke with his friends every morning before sun-up. Born a poor country boy, he worked - hard - all of his life, and took up smoking before his teens. His gruff laugh was infectious and he always left a memorable impression with those he encountered. He loved beautiful art and poetry, old country music and horses, a big truck and Marlboro's. His hands were huge and rough, so even his tender touch was not so tender. He loved the children and, according to him, all of the grandchildren favoured his features.
Yesterday was New Year's Eve - it was also my father's birthday. Happy birthday dad.
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