My dad pushed his glasses down to the bridge of his nose and peered over them at me. He does this when he’s about to say something profound and he really wants you to listen. We’re sitting at the corner bar and he’s about to go back to Ohio for his high school reunion. It’s the first reunion he’s ever gone to, and I figure he’s feeling a bit introspective.

“Death is the price you pay for living. You just have to make sure it’s a fair price.” He recites the words my grandfather used to say to him, lines I’ve heard my whole life. When my dad was 34, his father died after years of being riddled with disease. Death is something that saddens my dad, but he is not afraid of it.

“I’ve done things I hope God doesn’t know about,” he grins, full of satisfaction of a man who’s had a good life.

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