Dad is a gold mine when it comes to stories. I look back at my time with him and think how lucky I was not to be seriously hurt or institutionalized. He was a mad Irishman who made incredible claims when he was in the bottle. He’d yell out that he swam to Alcatraz and bought it, or he was drafted by the SF Giants and threw a no hitter, but quit before they could make his baseball card. I’ll keep writing about him for a while. It really feels good to write about something other than the army. This piece has a few funny and sad scenes in it and a bunch of questions because, I guess, I’m working this out myself lately.