My Dad used to be the hottest guy in the room.  No, I don’t mean the hottest guy looks-wise although from what I have gathered after his death, a lot of women found him very attractive.  And, to be objective, sure he was.  But that is not what I am talking about here.

Dad was hot and he dressed for summer almost every day of the year.

Rain or shine didn’t matter.  There he would be chugging along in his yellow and white ’71 Ford pickup, dressed in shorts and a  t-shirt.  He would come to my school,  walk around in the pouring rain,  it could have been snowing and it would have made no difference.

Hot weather and my Dad were buddies.  They worked together well.  He dressed for it, knew how to properly prepare for it, and the weather seemed to accept it.  We had no air conditioning in our house until I was in my late teens.  This was never an issue for my Dad.  He grew up without air conditioning and knew everything needed to cool down a house.

At night he would open up all the windows and screen door.  Every afternoon during summertime he would hose down our back deck, then bring in huge fans to suck in the cool air they generated.  He would then get up early in the morning before the temperatures rose,  shutting everything up to trap in the  cool.

Warmth with my Dad also came from within and radiated out.  His personality drew people to him.  Folks feeling sad or chilly, cold emotions, could always come to my Dad for a laugh, a smile, and a comforting hug.  A metaphorical warming up by a friendly campfire.  That was my Dad.  He personified warmth.

It was a brutal irony then that with age the winter weather moved in.

During the last few years of his life he was freezing, even in summer.  By that time even though he was stocky and solidly built,  he didn’t have much fat left on him.  He was cold most, if not all, days.  Gone were the shorts and on went the sweatpants, jeans, jackets, even gloves that he wore most of the time.

My house which for some reason stays cool even without air conditioning tended to be a  hindurance for him.  Blankets were always needed and the heater, even in 75 degree weather outside, was always turned on.

One of the pictures I have epitomizes my Dad in his 70’s. There he was, a huge smile on his face (the smile that could light up a room), about to have a meal at a restaurant.  He was wearing a red sweatshirt, jeans, and gloves.  The restaurant temperature most likely somewhere in the high 60’s.

However, despite that sombering phsyical progression from hot to cold, his inner warmth stilll radiated.  He may have been fully attired for winter,   but his figurative warmth was still caught in the wonderful throes of summer.

That was him.  My sweet hot Dad.