When I was a kid there was a certain family tradition.
Every Saturday night, my Dad would cook dinner. He always, always, always grilled steaks. This was the one of my brother’s and my close times with my dad. Standing out on the patio, just shootin’ the breeze. And watching Hee-Haw! 
My Dad had some great stories. One is about the time he saved some young kid’s drunk life. Dad was a skipper of an LCT in WWII in the Pacific. I won’t tell this correctly, because after all it isn’t MY story, but Dad drew alongside some really big ship for some reason or another. The swells would make them drift together, not in a good way. This guy (who may or may not have been drunk at the time) fell over the side, in between the ships that were slamming together. Somehow, Dad grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back on deck. It’s so funny when he tells it.
Dad tells stories with such drama and flair, that I could never hope to duplicate. He’s a great joke teller, too. I wish I had inherited that from him, but alas, I can barely remember a one-liner.
He tells wonderful stories of his golfing days and all of his golfing buddies. Some of them still get together and play gin rummy. For money, of course. Dad still smokes and drinks Bloody Mary’s and wine.
Dad is 81 this year, and is still in decent health. He is taking care of his good friend and roommate, who has Parkinson’s. He doesn’t golf anymore, but he is an elder of his church, and is very active.
He’s coming to Christmas dinner at my house again this year.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas. I know I will. 