My father was 37 when he passed away, I'm 33. Smoking, check. Drugs, occasionaly, check. One child, separated from mother. Both recovering from crappy job situations but recovering nonetheless. Both into progressive rock. He was into Yes, I'm into Ozric Tentacles ...and Yes.

One teenager each.

I find myself chilling out, smoking, playing Go (he was into Chess), listening to amazing music and just digging life. Him, he did all those things but I don't think my father let himself really relax enough to enjoy it all. For him life boiled down to some amalgam of ego, pride, alpha male-ness and a kind of anachronistic, 60's-era chauvanistic libedo.

Not a good combination with coke. Not a good combination with eating steak and eggs for breakfast all the time when your family has a history of heart disease.

So I guess I'm finding myself in a place I wish my dad could have found too. For most of my life I've felt that I would have been a disappointment to my father but frankly I didn't really care. These days I feel like my father would have been proud of me.

But I still don't care.