My father was also Irish, but no bravado for all that. He drank, to excess as I got older. He was funny, looked like Dean Martin, loved the Rockets, had a temper but rarely shouted...just a slow look that set you straight.

He was afraid of my mother. Everyone was afraid of my mother. When she finally kicked him out (after inheriting money from her father) I think my dad was relieved. We moved and I only saw him once after that. We talked once on the phone. I think it hurt him...greatly as I was his first child and he'd been nearly 50 when I was born. But at that time....that's how things were done.

Later as an adult I realized what had been denied both me and my brother, but by then it was too late. I loved my dad.