Thirty-five years ago today, my dad stood by my side as Best Man in my first marriage. That wasn’t the first time he was the best man in the room, and it wouldn’t be the last in the course of his eighty-one years. He was exceptional in so many ways, and the best checker player I’ve ever seen.
I rode my motorcycle out to Dad’s grave today to let him know that I was thinking about him, and to reassure him that my ex still wasn’t thinking about me. Not that he was responsible for the ex, of course. I was the groom of doom; he was just the proud father and Best Man.
