Ode to my father, on his birthday. A few things that remind me of him:


Clutch, on principle, as a Maryland rock band of clever gentlemen that sing songs about muscle cars and getting in to trouble.


Shelby mustangs, black and grey snakeskin cowboy boots, black dusters, dirty martinis, too many cigarettes, car grease, blue-eyes-and-silver-beards, trips to the beach, classic rock, eagles, summers finding turtles, tattoos, table saws,

…and moments in evenings spent wondering why he would come home from the bar with a crazy, girly, dangly earring in his left ear. It was a test by the lady he was trying to woo: she would wear the most feminine pair of earrings she had to see if he was man enough to don one (he was–they’re married now)

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