I came across the above down in the basement not too long ago, and I don't know very much about it. At this point, I probably won't because it's my dad's picture, and, well, we've been through that whole tale. But things being as they are, I wanted to share it as a little homage to him having been all that to me for a long time. Nothing like it, I'm quite sure, will ever pass my way again. Which, as Martha has pointed out, shouldn't make me feel too bad, because I've been there for him in his time of need. And indeed I have. He changed my diapers, I can return the favor..... If you're inclined not to share this perspective, I don't know what to tell you. There may be much I don't know about him, hell, I don't know. In any event, he's still one of my heroes, right up there with Lance Armstrong and Indiana Jones. Say whatever you like about fiction, doping, or however else you'd like to dissect my choices. Lance? It isn't like doping has been particularly unusual in the sport of bike racing, as in many sports; you go through chemo and still win the Tour de France, what is it, seven, eight times? Hell, in the sixties it wasn't muscle builders in bike racing, it was hallucinogens. The story is that the title of Cream's "Disraeli Gears" LP was actually inspired by a quote about one of the Tour de France winners who was so doped up he could probably hardly see straight, garbled by the drugs the speaker had taken. Indiana Jones? Fictional, yes, but heroic and intelligent, everything one could hope for in someone you can look up to. Same with dad. And if I do half the stuff in my life he did in his, I will have done well. In a certain way, I probably have. Which is cool. My only other thought, really, is that given the choice of living to 100 with not much of my sound mind left, and living to 70 and being sharp as a tack when I go, I know what my choice'd be. Still, here's to you, dad. You worked hard, earned respect, and probably made mistakes along the way. We're all human. What counts is the trying.