His corner

For about 12 years, I've mentioned my dad at almost every opportunity. At family gatherings. In conversations with friends and strangers.

Excuse the cliche, but I think he was larger than life. And I want people to know it. He died almost 12 years ago, but I don't invoke his name so I can remember him. I do it because I want others to know him.

He was in love with horses. He sold Justin boots. And he was the life of the party. He'd stay up into the wee hours with his sisters drinking whiskey and talking. To this day, I'm not sure what they ever talked about.

When he wasn't on the road, he played dice at the Red Rooster (a restaurant) with the local guys, who were old enough to be his father. He wasn't a political man, but I'll never forget his favorite presidential contender back in the early '90s. My lips are sealed.

He had fashion sense. He stared at himself in the mirror when he blow dried his hair. And if I recall, he died his hair jet black. I'll never forget the time he took me to Nordstrom's. It was my first time at the Mall of America, and he picked out new woredobes for my sister and me. Tight plaid stretch pants were so cool.

Come this April, he'll be out of my life longer than he was around -- physically speaking. His absence will be even more obvious on the wedding day.

There are two special ladies in my life, though, who are in line to walk me down the aisle. I'm comforted knowing there will be people at the wedding who are in Dad's corner, as my mom likes to say. Yesterday after 10 years of no communication beyond sending Christmas cards, I e-mailed my dad's best friend. He's already written back, and I have a feeling he'll be in my dad's corner.