Yet, he goes on.

Eulogy for my father, Michael Jr

Fifteen years ago, I was given a assignment in freshman English class to write a letter of admiration to someone I knew outside of school. Being a socially awkward teenager with no adult friends or relationships, I picked my father. In the letter, I said how I respected him for giving me an absurdist sense of humor and a foundation of critical thinking.

When the letter arrived, I was so ashamed, that I had picked him by default, despite him telling me how it moved him to tears.

This artifact haunted me occasionally, framed on his office wall, and while I feel I was honest, I was sorry in the awkwardness of its expression and timing around my parent’s divorce.

I miss him dearly.

He was a natural storyteller, able to share on request or given a situation that reminded him of his adventures. Fiction for an attentive child. Autobiography for a maturing young adult. I am sorry that I will not have his life recounted to me ad nauseam as I enter my own middle age.

He forgave me for my mistakes, and gave me the means to stand on my own through financial support and a good head on my shoulders.

My father respected me as a man, and I’m still trying to know and understand that today.

He is and forever will be my friend, as he always would remind me “you’re my bud.”