My Dad would have been 81 today. Had it not been for a horrible disease that wasn't the result of anything he did himself, he would have been, I have no doubt, in great shape, playing tennis every day under the Florida sun, calling me nightly to talk basketball, loving life. But that wasn't to be, and it's been almost eight years since he's been gone. I still miss him something fierce.
He always loved Sinatra, so, Dad, here's one I know was a favorite. Happy birthday: