Friday, August 4, 2017
I see his face every time I see a tractor-trailer rig on the highway.
I hear his voice every time some one makes a pun.
I hear him ranting about politics and know he would be right in the middle of the controversies of today.
He was my mentor and I was his.
He was my biggest fan and I was his.
He once told me that I could do whatever made me happy. He might disagree with my choice but he would always support me.
He let me sit on his porch for two weeks, drinking his wine and saying nothing. He understood my pain.
He understood my joys.
He wasn't perfect, thank the heavens.
He was Dan.
He was my brother.
He was born on August 4, 1947.