I think it's almost presumptuous for children to judge their parents. There's so much we don't know about them, and so much we'll never know about them because we see them through the lens of our childhood.
It came to me today that my father must have worked very hard to reclaim his life from whatever evils had taken hold of him, when he chose the high road of his Church and his God. I respect that deeply, and I wish it had not taken his death for me to realize it, because now I can't tell him.
J.C. Stith was a musician, a singer, and appreciated a good homemade ice cream. He loved his children, whom he did not see often. We did know.
[p.s.: to those close friends who are finding out such personal news in this rather cold fashion of a blog entry -- I'm sorry, I don't have my email address book with me, and I'm not anywhere near home.]