My dad was a genius. He could fix nearly anything. He was funny, and told me my first dirty joke – I think I was 9. He played piano by ear and had a magnificently eclectic collection of records. He was also a loud-mouthed know-it-all son-of-a-bitch, who rebelled at Authority, and as a result quit more jobs than I’ve had in my life. He taught me to drive by hiring my friend to teach me to drive. He taught me how to take a punch – and to throw one.
He was 59 when he died.
Happy Birthday, Michael Henry Cassel. Hug Frosty and Tok for me. I miss you.