I’m glad i managed to finish the books he’d lent me, and give them back to him. I’m glad he taught me about pythagora’s theorem when i was 6. I’m glad he only gave me one real compliment: “you’ve got a good head on your shoulders”. I’m glad he taught me all about the dam he built, and the intricacies of mines and groundwater. I’m glad he told me diamonds are on the tips of record players and on the machines that dig tunnels I’m glad we painted pinecones with his really old and stinky paint, and then we washed our hands with turpentine in the bathroom sink. I’m glad he brought me to the natural history museum so many times. I’m glad he tried to explain focault’s pendulum to me when i was 5, and that my grandmother took a photograph of that surreal scene. I’m glad we spent so many hours reading in silence together. I’m glad he taught me how to make the best risotto i’ve ever had. I’m glad he burned so many cds of family pictures so we could all be remembered. I’m glad we shared a love for barley soup and geometry. I’m glad he never tried to influence me, and always waited for me to figure things out on my own. I’m glad that when i was really small, he’d let me hold his finger instead of is whole hand, because it was too big for my tiny grip, and i’m glad that that is my earliest memory. I’m glad he got me to read the newspaper. I’m glad he let me look at stars and sailboats through his binoculars.

I’m glad he was so down to earth. And he was always there for me.