Three years ago, a man died.
This man wasn't the best-looking, or the smartest man, but he did okay. He moved around a lot when he was real young, and that just makes any kid's life unpleasant.
But it was more than just that.
This man was in a wheelchair, growing up back in a time when he was made to ride the short bus, and be in the special ed classes. Yeah, that really helped him in the social department.
This man had one hell of a temper, and would throw some epic fits. The things you have nightmares about.
This man was given a chance, though, to do everything the "normal" kids did at summer camp, and that taught him to think past the lot in life that society, at the time, had given him.
So he's in a wheelchair. Big fucking deal.
This man was a paramedic from that chair. He joined the local chapter of the Lion's Club and gave back to the community and disabled children growing up in the same streets he did.
He had two children that he did his best to raise. Sure, he lost his temper every now and then... but they got the message he was trying to convey. And for the most part, they're not total screw ups. They're both pretty smart kids, doing the best they can in the world today.
This man taught me how to drive. How to do my best to be self sufficient. How to carry myself tall, and to never take shit from anybody. He is responsible for my arrogance and twisted sense of humor. For my pride in my home, and in things that I accomplish.
He introduced me to video games at a young age, never fearing that I would try and re-enact scenes out of Doom 2 or Duke Nukem. He didn't try to protect us from the horrors of the outside world... he just didn't want to see his kids do something stupid and get hurt.
This man was my father. Daniel. My son is named for him. And until the day that little boy was born, this man was the most important person in my life.
Three years ago today, I had to say goodbye. Three years ago today, my father died.
I miss you, Dad.