At first, of course, I wanted to love him.
But I quickly learned to hate him.
That continued well into my young-adult years.
By then, though, I had finally begun to pity him.
Then he went and died on me at age 63.
Way, way too early.
And too late.
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Doodlemeister's Weblog 
A touching poem. I also find the photo very engaging, Jim.
Thank you, Jo-Ann. He was an interesting man, very funny and entertaining at times, at least when sober, but altogether impossible to love because of the booze. I suppose I was lucky to even get to the “pity” stage with him. Have no idea why he took over my mind for about two hours today while I wrote that.