I cut several paragraphs.

The first two paragraphs (not included) refer to the fact that we didn't see him much growing up, and that he & our mom divorced in '65. She included those references because she believes Dad's wife has told everyone she's ever met that he was a widower when they married in '69. Nancy has told so many lies about us that some people actually avoided my eldest sister at the after-thing. (She told my other sister not to GO to the after-thing because of what her son, my nephew, said at the graveside. He dared to tell some truths and offended everyone.) Nancy Harris can just go and fuck herself.

But I'm not bitter.

There's a vivid picture in my head of my dad driving with the windows down; my sisters and I were in the car. I think I was eight, so Kim must have been five. Somehow her doll or stuffed animal made its way out of the car. Dad actually went out into the street -- with plenty of traffic -- and brought it back to the car. There aren't many dads who will do that -- especially without yelling.

Once there was a fishing trip in Dad's red boat which sported a sign saying, "This is my boat and I'm the boss" with a little more colorful language, to be honest. The photo shows sunburns. I think we girls were 11, 10, and 8 years old. We learned about the boat launch, the rods, the sinkers, and the vomiting. . . . A few years ago I asked him if he ever went fishing anymore; at that time he said no, he had begun to feel bad for the fish.

Dad loved traveling. . . . He said the best trip ever was . . . when he and Nancy attended President Carter's Sunday School class. He sent me a great picture. Not all his travels were recreational: he also took donations to Baja. He was a very generous man.

A large part of Dad's personality was his sense of humor. He taught us a little Spanish: "Como esta frijole" means 'How you been?' Annette loved his laugh, a laugh so big it seemed to fight to get out of this quiet man.

When Kim was in her early twenties, she called Dad to accept his offer to teach her how to change the oil in her car. He said, "Come on over." When she arrived, he handed her a twenty-dollar bill and said, "I don't even change my own oil anymore."

- big snip -

The rest of the memories are just little snippets, like . . . taking us to his bachelor pad just long enough for him to be embarrassed by his roommate's rude sculpture on top of the TV set.

I inherited that very active sense of embarrassment, along with the exact location of the bags under my eyes. Marie and Kim got his sense of humor and quick wit, Marie is handy with tools, Keegan got the eyebrows, Chelsea got the quiet manner, Sal has the puns at the ready, and Kim even walks a little like Dad.

So it's really not true, what I said before about having nothing but memories, because my sisters and I have his genes. If we want to see our dad again, all we have to do is look in the mirror.

Dad & his wife are fundamentalist evangelical Christians, as was about two-thirds of the attendants at the graveside service. My sister wrote the last two paragraphs knowing that the memorial services would be very little about Dad and all about their religion, and their belief that Dad is with the Lord, so everyone who's saved will see him again.

Well, we're atheists and we know that we will see him all the time in each other. And we're the only ones who will see him.