Last weekend marked five years that my father passed away. It didn’t really hit me until I put it into the frame point that it’s been half a decade. We’re coming around to the point that next year, the anniversary will fall on the same day of the week as it was when he first passed. I will as I always have try and keep myself busy that day.

I spoke about him last night while recording a podcast with my friend, Donnie. About how he was a simple man, not a stupid one. How he didn’t need complicated reasons about race theory or LGTBQIA+ because in his mind, he boiled down everything to “There are good people and bad people and it doesn’t matter what if they’re gay, white or black”. He judged people as they came to him.

One of the stories that remains in my mind is that my dad did taxes from January to April. There was an older woman who was on a fixed income and three years of her tax return had been messed up. My father was so angry about the work the guy had done before him. He never took that out on me though, I remember coming downstairs to give him his coffee and he was cursing at the computer. I handed him the coffee, he immediately calmed, said thank you and as I walked away went back to angrily talking about this “Fucking idiot accountant”. My father charged about a hundred dollars an hour for his time but he put the work in. He put in enough effort that he could get people back thousands of dollars and do it in a legal way. I was eating dinner alone when the woman came to pick up her tax returns. I remember sitting at the table and thinking that all the work, about three hours for return, would be a nice paycheck for him. She was over the moon. He had gotten her back so much money. Then I heard him say:

“Let’s just call it fifty dollars and be done with it.”

The woman paid him his money and left. He was clearing up his papers when I went into the room. I asked him why he had only charged her fifty dollars. That should have been a nine hundred dollar paycheck. My father took off his glasses, something that always signaled that he was about to talk to me seriously, and told me:

“Money isn’t the most important thing. She’s a woman alone, Rollo. You have to help where you can.”

That’s been with me since that day and probably will until I can no longer draw a breath. Another favorite story of his is that my dad told me that he didn’t want me to steal because he would be embarrassed if he had to come to the police station because I got caught stealing a candy bar. He didn’t tell me not to steal because it’s wrong, just to do it in a smart way. He told me that if you can steal enough to retire and never work again and do it in a way that you didn’t have to harm anyone, go for it. Anything else was pointless. That was way more effective and I never thought about stealing little things because what would be the point? I can’t retire on what’s in a cash register. I can’t retire on a Butterfingers. My dad said be Danny Ocean or don’t bother.

In conclusion, I want to talk about one of the greatest gifts that my mother gave me. One year, she took a video on her phone of my dad wishing me a happy birthday and that he loved me. Whenever I’m down, I watch that video and get to hear my father’s voice. I get to hear him tell me he loves me.

This is a hard thing I have to tell people and I get asked about the death of my father alot. I’m older and people are seeing their parents get old and becoming infirm. They need someone with experience to get through it. So, they talk to me.

What I’m trying to tell you is if you’re a parent, you should leave behind something that your children can hear you tell them that you love them. That they can go forward without doubting that. And no matter where you are in your life if you have loved ones, tell them that you love them as a goodbye. You want to make sure that that’s the last thing they hear from you in case something happens.

Be well my friends. I love you.