My Dad is a ridiculously gifted writer. He's also old and grumpy. Over the years he's told some great stories, but I've had a hard time remembering many of them. Since he's retired, I've asked him (actually begged him) to write down some of these stories. Of course, he never would. I mean... he's grumpy, and grumpy people never do anything you ask.

I hoped blogging would appeal to him so I made him a My Space account. Of course, he didn't want to do that either — the grumpy bastard.

He's not getting any younger and has had numerous health and heart problems. He's got a stent and had heart surgery.

Not long ago, grump-a-lumps went for a checkup and met a nurse who was originally from South Africa. He apparently became un-grumpy long enough to become somewhat enamored, even though he's married — and old. Like — really, really old. He must have been in bliss to have this young, pretty woman with a foreign accent pay so much attention to him. He just loves attention. He - just - looooves attention. I wasn't there, but I'm embarassed nonetheless. Certainly with visions of cowboys, horses and the wild, wild west, she asked him questions on what it was like growing up in Texas in the 30's and 40's. (Not so grumpy now, are we dad?) 

Seventeen seconds after walking in the front door of his home, he sat down, booted up his computer, and wrote 20 plus pages on his illustrious and adventurous childhood spent in "a much simpler time".

His son begs him for years and gets nothing. A cute nurse asked him once.  Hmph. Grumpy little bastard.

Today is my birthday and I received the following email from my dad. It's one of the best gifts I ever received from my father.