When he had his mini stroke just before Christmas, he came back quickly. I was calling him regularly and reading the funny parts in my blog. He especially loved the chapter about taking a shit in Japan. He was fully aware back then.

But this time, within a couple of weeks, Dad had another stroke and it was pretty much over. He would mindlessly push the wheelchair backwards through the halls until he bumped into something. Dad never liked sitting still. His favorite phrase was, “Let's go!” It was a bit like he was trying to escape. But he no longer knew how to get up and go. I knew when I shaved him I was saying good-bye. He died a week later and I tried to put some thoughts together for his eulogy. He wanted me to do it for him and I was glad to.

Dad was a character. He was a delight to be around. He was a traveling salesman from the old days and he fit the stereotype exceptionally well. Whenever he walked in a room, everyone brightened. Richard was going to entertain anybody who would listen. He and I were sort of like oil and water, but later in life I came to admire him and marvel at his tenacity. He had an ongoing love affair with two women. One was an old battle axe named Hazel and the other was my beautiful Trish.

He loved Hazel because she was so damn full of life. She was like a female version of Dad. She was probably in her 80s but none of us were sure. She often showed up dressed flamboyantly with a wild smear of red lipstick that missed the mark. She was annoying to proper people, which is exactly why Dad and I loved her so much. Dad's love affair with her was well known and we all approved of it.

His relationship with my wife was also pretty well known. I would be upstairs writing and Trish would be downstairs talking to him on the phone. I often wondered who she was talking to. She would bill and coo like a high school girl. Then she would laugh her hearty laugh and I would traipse downstairs to see who was causing all the commotion.

“It's your Dad!” she would say, blushing as if she had been caught doing something inappropriate. Usually, he had just told here a disgusting joke and she was laughing despite herself. Dad loved Trish so much, I think, because Trish always meets people on their own level. She judges no person. She thinks of herself as nobody's superior, even though her basic human kindness outshines anyone.

Dad was a big sports fan. In the last few years of his life, he was pretty much stuck alone in the house with nothing to do for most of the day. And without a car to get him out, he felt like a prisoner in his own house. Thank God for sports. Dad loved the big blue, the University of Kentucky Wildcats. My little brother Ken went there. I went to Louisville. You can imagine what basketball season was like. Fortunately, our two favorite teams seldom met so we all pulled for both teams throughout March Madness every year. We knew Dad's end was near when he refused to watch the Cards fight their way through to the championship. It was really sad for us.

He had this lame joke that he loved to tell to the kids. I think it was probably the only clean joke he ever told. He would grab a quarter out of his pocket and ask some poor kid to look closely. Then he would lay the quarter in the palm of one hand and beat it methodically with his fist.

“You know what that is?” he would say. Children never knew what to make of this. They knew enough about Dad not to trust him and they would cut their eyes around looking for one of us to help. Finally, Dad would announce, “That's called a quarter pounder. Get it? Pound! Quarter! See?”

The kids would giggle a little and walk away shaking their heads. And Dad would stand there and laugh his ass off. “Didja see that? Got him didn't I!”

Everyone would roll their eyes and smile. Yep, there he goes again.

But not all of Dad's jokes were lame. There was one he used to tell at seminars by way of illustrating the most basic part of sales....supply and demand.