On this day, back in 1989, my dad passed away at 30 years old.

I was about ten and a half at the time; only old enough to create and retain a few memories that have lasted this long: the way he looked, what he drove (how odd is that?), and a handful of vacation-like events we enjoyed together.

There are so many other things I cannot remember: his voice, his general personality, or any day-to-day interactions he had with my sister, my mom, myself…

My oldest son is now about ten and a half and I sometimes find myself thinking: if I were to go tomorrow, he and his brothers will have access to so many videos of me, and I’m glad they’d have them because the same is not true for me and my dad … and that sucks.