inside he was unsettled, not disturbed, but unsettled. Many things troubled him: his family, work, and other things he never told me about. Sometimes he would seem fine and other times he just seemed to float near the deep end. He had a strange way of doing things. When he showed me love, it was the highlight of a weekend, always calling and asking if I could come out and play that was the greatest. He wasn't always nice, though. He had a very bad temper. He'd never hit me. He loved me too much, but he'd yell. Whenever things didn't go his way, he'd yell. Sometimes he'd get mad for petty reason, yell, and not call me for days. When he would call, he would be sarcastic and distant, almost mean. That's just the way he was.He had more good qualities than bad. Whenever we would do something together, we always laughed. More times were spent together laughing than anything else. He had the greatest laugh. It was a hearty chuckle, and if you got him going really good, no sound would come out, only air. I'll always remember the laugh, the way his dimples danced and stretched across his face. It was great to see him laugh. His eyes usually filled with tears of laughter and poured down his face in a wave of endless hysteria.Papa was always the practical joker. Constant tricks were always being played on my brother and me. His mind was always working towards evil tricks that he thought were hysterical, usually "trap-the-victim-then-tickle-to-death" was his favorite game. I was always the victim: he could never really catch my brother. I'd scream and scream, laughing between gasps of air, but those dimples would dance, and he'd continue to tickle. It was practically a ritual; no visit with Papa was complete without a round of tickle torture.He was always doing crazy things: dancing on bars, embarrassing people in public, and speaking in his bold way. I guess, though, I'll always remember his dimples. They will always remind me of the days when w...
