Dad was old (41) when I was born.
Born a hillbilly, in appalachia, real-deal southern gothic desperation shit.
Maybe got through 10th grade.
Made his way to Dallas in his early 20's, working for a mortician.
By the time I was born he owned a funeral parlor and a car dealership.
Was a natural engineer, just self-taught.
Had his companies computerized way before that was normal, nothing high-tech or like, server engineering but, enjoyed building computers and databases.Like, for fun. Loved HAM radio, scuba, anything technical was fun to him. His friends - mostly city guys - thought he was a real resource in terms of practical stuff. Cool guys constantly coming over and working on little projects with him.
I was his helper. Life was good.
Mom went crazy, refused treatment, divorced him. Dragged out, was irrationally executed through woman-friendly courts, destroyed everything he built. Destroyed him. Tried to erase who he was from my memory. Shat on anything he and I did together, threw away all of his stuff or sold it for pennies on the dollar. He died when I was 22.
I think that the years from when my Mom went crazy to when he died cost him at a rate of 2 or 3 years to one actual. And he was hillbilly strong. It was bad.
Now I own my own business (niche services) with my oldest friend. Use digital and automation to run it smart.
I build computers (nothing expert - I just like clean systems) - for my friends and like building websites.
Not an engineer like my Dad was but, kind of handy. Like HAM, build rifles, reload. My friends and their kids love me. What I don't tell them is that I'm just trying to be half of who/what my Dad was.
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It's cool Dad. I'm ok, and happy. I've built my life like I was checking with you while putting together some old x286 PC or running a loading press. Miss you. Love you. I'm dialed-in because of you. Your name is good. You built a good system - still stable. Can't wait to see you again.