Today is the third anniversary of my father's passing. Almost subconsciously, I wore a pair of his old socks. They were a really comfy pair of socks that probably came from Lands End. I must say that his socks reminded me of him. Comfortable. Soft. Warm.

I miss him terribly. I realized the other day that I'm finally in that stage of grieving where I don't think about him everyday, but instead think of him every so often. Usually the times when he's most on my mind are the simple times. To talk about the UT game. To talk about what movie I saw last. To eat some of his fantastic BBQ.

I also realize that dad must have done a good job with me because I sometimes think I sound just like him. I make similar decisions. My voice intonation and inflection sometimes mimics dad's voice perfectly, without me even trying. Luke really reminds me of dad. They have similar voices and similar ways of thinking. I sometimes call Luke when dad is on my mind.

Each person that knew dad had a different type of relationship with him. Some of my fondest memories were of the times when it'd be just him, Luke, and myself. For a while, it really was just the three of us in that tiny house on Mildred. Although those were some tough years, those have to be some of the best times of my life. We really formed quite the trio. It was such a strong bond, that when we moved to North Houston, the bond would often present itself. Karen would be working late or out of town and dad would cook up some sausage on the grill. We'd eat it in the kitchen, or on the deck, and be "guys." Farting. Laughing. Making stupid jokes.

I was fortunate to have him for a dad. I'm glad he taught me all that he knew.

matt out