Dad is 75 years old and deserves a beer.

This is my dad. He's 75 this month. Which is a bit of a miracle, because 8 years ago we thought that we had lost him. A stroke in the middle of the night left him sprawled out on the bathroom floor, and subsequent aftershocks crippled his right hand and leg and took away his speech. In many ways he is a shell of what he once was, passing the days and weeks and years in front of the television with limited mobility and no speech.

We go to the mall once in a while though to go shopping, me pushing him between the crowded men's section at Sears to look at jeans, shirts, boxers and stuff. Then we go to Macy's and repeat, usually with a stop for espresso in between. Or a drive to look at big houses in some rich town - just like we used to do when I was a kid and he'd be driving me around.

So dad, you made it to 75. Happy birthday. Enjoy the beer!

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