RaisingDad

A month ago, I was awaken at 0430 hours (that's 4:30am, for all you non-military types) by loud voices that were coming from downstairs. In the fog of my semi-consciousness, I'd have sworn it was several men. They were either burglarizing my house or leaving me a new wide-screen HDTV, but I doubt that second part.      I laid in bed for a few minutes, part of me trying to talk myself into getting up and the other part trying to talk myself into staying where I was at. I figured, if I'm asleep and they decide to kill me, well, I wouldn't know. I would just wake up in Heaven. Not a bad deal.      Thoughts about my Dad floated somewhere in my non-slumberness. He sleeps in the bedroom downstairs. He'd take the first hit. "Well, he's an old man," I tried to justify my lack of movement. He's led a good life. Maybe it would be a blessing.      Don't judge me, I was tired.    ...

My Dad is a big boxing fan.      To this day, if there's a boxing match on, he'll watch it, it doesn't matter who's fighting.      When Muhammad Ali fought Smoking Joe Frasier, I remember my father going by himself to see the film of the fight at the North Loop Drive-In. This was months after the fight was fought, and it was on a double-feature with The Godfather. A classic boxing match AND The Godfather? My father must have been in Heaven.      The first time Cassius Clay--pre-Muhammad Ali--fought Sonny Liston in 1964, my father and I sat in the kitchen and listened to the fight on the radio, television not being the affordable addiction it is now.      My Dad bet me 50 cents on the fight. Now 50 cents was like a thousand dollars in those days. I'm exaggerating, of course, but, for a kid, that's what it seemed like to me. It was probably c...