January 25th is my father’s birthday. Had he lived, he would have been 92 this year. For his siblings and their spouses, living at least that long was completely normal. But, being the youngest and a rebel at heart, Dad died of cancer at just 78-years-old.
So, maybe no cake but we can still celebrate memories like when he gave us lottery tickets for Christmas, birthdays, and random weekdays. He wanted everyone to be as lucky as he felt. None of us ever won big so I routinely teased Dad about how to split $3 evenly among the five of us. Did he and Mom count as one share? Should it be based on need? I had more kids than my siblings afterall. Where did he think we should invest it? Luckily, he laughed, albeit while waving his fist at me.
So, today, here’s to you, Dad. Your kids have no doubt we won the lottery the day we were born.
Change of the day: Hug my most excellent mother more. And, go double check my lottery tickets. Dad might have put in a good word.
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