My sister and I met John in 2007 when I was 11. Even though biologically we are unrelated, he was our dad. He began calling Sara and me his daughters before I had even warmed up to the idea of introducing a D’Artagnan into our three Musketeer circle (Sara loved him instantly).
He became the best dad in the entire world.
In childhood, a goofy, kind, and often embarrassing dad. One day while shopping for Halloween costumes, he became enamored with an African-style dress, which he wore out of the store in broad daylight—I wanted to die. He hated pants, ties, and shaving almost as much as he hated Republicans (intended hyperbolically John hated no one).
John was a man of many talents. He was a Princeton graduate, a lawyer, spoke fluent Spanish, and played a mean hand flute (not a euphemism, guys). But he reigned supreme at picking out the most disgusting health foods ever known to mouth. When we met John, my sister and I had high hopes for all the snack possibilities that could soon be at our disposal. (Anyone who knows my mother knows we ate healthy.) We were familiar with the stereotype of Americans who loved their Twinkies. However, much to our dismay, the only snacks in his house were health bars made out of grass. I won’t ever forget the taste of the most disgusting thing I have ever attempted to eat.
My mother and John were a match made in heaven, rejecting the norms and giving us a very unconventional childhood.
We had kale smoothies instead of juice boxes. Agave instead of sugar. Dryers were bad for the environment and therefore banned from the house, and skinny dipping is how nature intended humans to swim (I never got on board with that second one). We did yoga Saturday mornings, never stepped foot in a church, and celebrated winter solstice. Our presents were rarely in material form and almost always an experience (camping, road trips, or summers in Europe), except for the occasional fossilized dinosaur poop. Thanks to John, my answer to “what’s the weirdest gift you have ever received?” is fossilized dinosaur poop.
John’s Alzheimer’s affected him for most of my adult life, but even so, he never lost his essence. He visited me in Germany, Ireland, Austin, and NYC. We traveled, played pool, watched basketball, listened to jazz, and drank a lot of beer together. John, if we ever meet again, you owe me like 100 rounds. I love you so, so, so much, always will.
While I have been greatly disappointed with life for taking my dad much sooner than I would have liked, it is the honor and privilege of a lifetime to have spent the last 19 years with him.
I hope to honor John by living out the same kindness and compassion he showed to everyone he met.