My Iron Man

I can still see my dad today, puffing on his cigarettes, waving around his hand saying - "There aren't many of us Iron Men left."
I don't know quite how to describe an Iron Man to you, because my father left me too soon for me to ask. So, I shall just describe my father.
He was Scottish-Irish, hot tempered, loved Ernest Tubb, and motorcycles. He was short, having to hop and skip to get into his huge diesel truck. He loved sunsets, and told me once "Always watch every sun set you can, because no two are ever a like. That's what makes them so beautiful."
He couldn't spell, which is something I diffinently get from him. He was as bald as a baby's butt, and liked it that way.
My sister and I still remember the vain that used to pop out on his head. You could always tell when he was happy or upset or mad by that vain. He loved life, living everyday to it's fullest extent and then some. He didn't hardly ever stop smiling, always a good natured feeling about him. If you met my dad, you loved him. It was just as plain as the nose on your face. My father knew what to say to make it better, how to hug you to make you feel like the world was perfect. He never missed my birthday (although for awhile there he got it a day early!), and knew just what to send me.
I'll miss the way he used to hold me, to laugh at me when I killed my car I was just starting to learn to drive, to call me and give me a pick me up on a cloudy day. I've never felt so alone as I do right now. But I know that where my dad is, he smiling down on me telling me to be myself.
When I see my father again, I hope it will be in heaven.
I close in saying, as my father would have said so avidly before,
"Nothing finer than a Pipeliner!"

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