It was my twelfth birthday. I decided to wait up until midnight, hoping he would call. I wanted to give him every last possible moment to remember.
As the clock struck twelve, I sobbed.
Thirty-three years later, on my 45th birthday, I waited up again.
I had just celebrated with my dear friend Paulie, his amazing wife, and their two joyful sons. They bought me a cake, ordered my favorite Pittsburgh pizza, and sang to me with a love only the healthiest and happiest of humans can evoke. After arriving home that night, I noted that my dad had forgotten my birthday again. Over the years he had missed many, so this was no surprise. The surprise was in my response.
There I was, a grown man, crying like a little boy.