Like some men, and as was the practice in some families, my brothers and I did not hug my father a lot. As we got older in places like Montreal, or Kingston, or Dallas or Calgary, we also did not tell him that we loved him as much as we did. With our artist Mom, there was always a lot of affection, to be sure; but in the case of my Dad, usually all that was exchanged with his four boys was a simple handshake, when it was time for hello or goodbye. It was just the way we did things.
Warren Kinsella and I don't have a lot in common beyond a love for flatout rock and roll; but I remember an email he sent me when I was trying to get this stupid blog off the ground. He said something like: You're funny, please continue.
His Dad died a couple of days ago, and he was obviously a man Warren deeply loved. So let's call a ceasefire for five minutes or so and send our prayers to him and his family.