Thinking about my dad after reading your tribute to your own…I was remembering a few funny episodes. I had a friend named Bill P. (trouble-maker) who would always come by the house and drive across the lawn (ignoring the driveway) up to the front door to pick me up, and it would make my dad go absolutely apoplectic.

I remember one night when Bill and I were driving off in Bill’s orange Pinto and my dad came raging out of the house in his pajamas, shaking his fist and yelling as we sped off. It still makes me smile to think about it.

My dad loved me to pieces, but I used to drive him to distraction with my willfulness and lack of convention, attraction to defiant characters and my ability to argue with him late into the night…actually, I think we both enjoyed those conversations, when I’d try to come up with philosophical, reasoned workarounds to his objections of whatever plan of mine he was opposing at the time.

I remember telling him, earnestly, that it was my intention to quit school and join the peace corps. His retort: “You want to save the world but you can’t even take out the garbage.”

(Odd sidenote: it’s “garbage night” here in Ann Arbor and I have yet to take it out. He was obviously more prescient than I ever gave him credit for.)

It was a semi-constant battle as I would attempt to surprise him with me “deep and passionate intellect” and he would try to dial me back with his “better judgment.” It’s a dynamic that is sorely missing from my world these days.

Thanks for writing up your own thoughts about your dad…I guess Kristoff inspired you and you inspired me.