The cemetery was peaceful - but that's what people always say about cemeteries, don't they? They're always carrying on about how "peaceful" they are. I can't say that they're really wrong. Except for a couple of maintenance guys, there was no one really there. Bunches of flowers gave a break of color between the green of the grass and the grey of the headstones. It was quiet, and a slight breeze blew. So it was peaceful, save the hiss of the freeway, which filtered in through the evergreen trees that ringed the field of the dead.
He had a heart as big as a truck and a laugh that could move a house. This was a hearty, sonic boom of a laugh, drawn from a seemingly endless well of mirth. It was released most often around the dinner table (where pops was the happiest), suddenly erupting and literally shaking the room. The man had an unstoppable joy, a playful, joking spirit that really had a life of its own. He laughed, teased, prodded and razzed, all the way until the end. So it should come as no surprise that my father was, in part, a mighty jester. After all, he was born on April 1st.