14 years ago, I lost my Dad. He was my best friend, my mentor, my son's namesake. He taught me how to make a perfect gin martini, and introduced me to fine single malt Scotch. He encouraged me in all my whims and desires. He let me read any book in the house that I picked up, which is how I came to read most of Robert Ludlum before I was in high school, and he patiently explained the Cold War to me because of it. He was a Naval veteran of the Korean War, although he rarely talked about it. He taught me to cook, and better, to enjoy the whole act of cooking and make it an integral part of entertaining. When I went to business school and art school, he supported me through it all. He loved it when I was in art school, doing most of the assignments along with me - he harboured a secret desire to be an artist. Or a chef. In my eyes he was both. I wish I had been a sock knitter 20 years ago. I would have loved to have knitted him socks.
Crap, I miss him.