Last week my dad turned a year older. We shared spaghetti and roast beef before Cisco and I snuck out to buy him a cake. We crossed the street hand in hand and stood in front of the dessert display, eventually choosing a chocolate one with cream cheese frosting, and a little blue candle. "How do you know Grandpa likes blue?" Cisco asked, and I said, "I just know."

These are a handful of the other things I know, all of which I know because of my dad: That you should be generous with your kindness and graceful with your hurt. That you should never forget to cross a cheque, weigh your luggage, lock the taxi door. That you cannot have enough rechargeable lamps. That you should tell a joke like you mean it, and that when nobody laughs, you should tell it again. That family is important, that its boundaries are fluid. That gratitude deserves to be heard and felt. That you should always show up; that sometimes, showing up is all you'll ever really need to do.