It's easy to see my father as larger than life, nor is such a prespective all that far from the truth. He was involved in most of the major events in his lifetime, and by that I mean world, or at minimum, U.S. level events. What are the odds that my parents would be aboard the Grand Princess cruise ship quarantined for Covid-19? If you look at their history, pretty high.

But when I reflect on what my father means to me, what comes to mind are the little times, and the things I learned from him, both good and bad. I'm sure, for example, there have been times he came to regret raising his daughters to think for themselves when we would argue...and even sometimes win...against him. I've had this experience with my boys, and yet I cannot truely regret having children who can think critically any more than he did.

He wasn't perfect. Not some person to put on a pedestal, and yet he loved to help people. He went out of his way to do so at every opportunity. There were certainly a lot of problems his combination of real world experience and book learning could address. Dad wasn't the type to give up, either. When necessary, he would tackle all challenges head-on, but if that didn't work, he'd find a different way, even if it meant creative approaches that could come back to haunt him but rarely did.

Dad didn't often do things like the rest of the crowd, something I grew to appreciate the older I became. If I treat everything as an adventure, no matter how difficult, I get that from him. Whether when he took us on magical mystery tours where we deliberatly got lost in the desert or how he read or told us stories full of word games, stout hearts, and delicious pastries.

I get my love of storytelling from my father, no question. He made characters come alive for us even as he seeped us in the basic framework of stories. The stories he told varied from talking about his experiences with my mother around the world, to his Creampuff stories about a dragon with an unusual diet, and even extended puns in an attempt to sneak even more of his favorite linguistic games into play.

I'm struggling to come up with examples or ways to help you see him as I did. The college professor, active church member, actor, and any number of shoes he filled, if seen in isolation, would have been enough. For my father, though, nothing would be enough. He loved learning, teaching, and delighting any crowd he could claim. He certainly won over untold numbers of my friends from as long ago as high school (or earlier) up to the last time I brought a friend over with me in the past ten years or so.

There's so much I could say and it would never be enough. I will give you the best example of all, then, and where I'll miss his presence the most.

My family has always been close. It's a consequence, I suppose, of moving so much when we were young. As soon as the technology was available, at least by 1994, we were doing teleconferences to keep in touch. My boys were startled the first time they met my father, because they were used to him being maybe six inches on the monitor, not over six feet. But over time, those teleconferences became a weekly habit. I can't remember when it started, but at least for the last 15 years, every week my sisters and parents gathered to talk from 7:30pm to often a reluctant 9pm. Sure, we talked about mundane stuff some of the time and caught each other up on our lives, but we'd be just as likely to discuss world history, politics, books, where the walls were in the house in Kabul, or almost anything.

We plan to continue our weekly chats, but Dad's contribution will be absent. He always brought something to the conversation. Even in these last few months, when things had become difficult, I enjoyed talking with him and having lively discussions on whatever topics crossed our minds. That's what having David McGaffey in my life has been like. He challenged me to think things out, to seek different answers and approaches, and to have hope even when none remains likely. I just know, where he is now, he is having the best discussions ever with great minds he knew only through their writings before.