I was eighteen years old. I had my “new” car- which was about ten years old at the time… An electric blue four door Pontiac Sunbird. (Yes,I just dated myself. It was before the “cool” version Sunfire!) It was a beautiful spring day, and I was driving around, playing the music enjoying the drive. As I came past the hospital on King George road and up the hill, I saw him. He was a middle aged man, wearing a Blues Brothers fedora, oversized aviator sunglasses, a full length trench coat, and jeans and runners that looked like they were on the clearance rack from the Salvation Army Store. As if his appearance wasn’t odd enough, he was definitely, absolutely, without a doubt: power-walking. I stared. I snickered. I actually said aloud to myself, laughing: “Wow. This guy is a friggen winner.”

The words had barely grazed my lips when tragedy struck. No accident, although the shock and terror was comparable as I was dumbfounded by the cruel reality of what appear before me. Like staring at optical illusion artwork when the picture suddenly pops out at you… Only it was dizzying and nauseating. The winner was, not only a power walking, trench coat sporting, Salvation Army shopping Blues Brothers wannabe…Much more than that!!!! He was my father.