My obligatory Father's Day post
Le Sweetie and I called his stepfather to wish him a happy Father's Day. It felt a little strange to say "Happy Father's Day." I haven't uttered those words in years. My own father died of cancer when I was nine going on ten. Dad himself was forty-four going on forty-five. My brother was six going on seven. We were all born in September. In fact, my brother's birthday is the day after mine. Yes, we were born three years and a day apart. I guess winter was a really, uhm, romantic time of the year for Mom and Dad. Anyway, he had cancer of the stomach, but nobody knows where it originated. I only know that it was first spotted when Dad went into the hospital for a hernia. In fact, he and my brother had hernias at about the same time. And from what I remember, this all happened right after my brother had his tonsils removed. I never had mine removed. I was never in the hospital overnight. I never even got that sick--well, except for chicken pox when...