Happy Birthday, Pop. My dad would have been 86 cantankerous years old today if COPD hadn't claimed him at 2121 on 21st Dec 1985.
I miss him.
Happy 8th Aniversary of the Divorce, Me.
Too way cool, on 9.9.99 at 0909 hours, my divorce was final (oh yeah, well, we did have 'till November 16th to patch things up and thus render the divorce null-obviously I passed on that).
Thank-you Blake Green, and thank-you Pop.
Blake was a lawyer. Blake was a dad. Blake was something of a lush until his lung cancer metastisized to his brain and he decided to see a doctor about what was wrong. How nice, to go in to the doctor and find out:
"Hey, you've got lung cancer!" But wait, there's more-
"It's metastisized to your brain and you've a whopping big tumour going on up there...we'll do all we can to keep you comfortable."
But he passed on that so his kids would remember him drug and drink free.
And then he passed on, 4th July 1999.
I like to think that between the two of them, Pop and Blake shuffled the papers on Judge Little's desk until just the right moment.
Again, thank-you guys.
Right before I left Dothan I read in the Eagle that one of Blake's sons was in a softball championship; both on honour roll.