Let this memory lighten grief

The first time I met him, he dropped Kristy off at my house on his motorcycle. We were thirteen, almost fourteen. He was friendly and jolly and knew everyone in South Bay, and let us run up his phonebill as we downloaded songs from Les Mis off of Q-Link and chatted with guys across the country. He laughed at our glee at Lou and Kid getting married. He didn't yell (too much) when I stuck his antique Civil War rifle muzzle-down into the dirt when we filmed our student film masterpiece, 1862. He taught me about casting lead bullets and somehow knew our swordsmith friend, Bill. And he laughed when Kristy and I fought all the way home from Escondido. And when she wouldn't let me in the car on the way back from Medieval Times. I meant to give her the rose from the knight, really. I just...didn't.

He called me his other daughter, and never failed to give me a hug whenever he saw me. His smile was bright, and I never really saw him angry, even at those $100 phone bills after we'd been up all night online.

David Forsyth, you were a great second father to me in all those formative years, even when your daughter and I weren't speaking, which seemed like half the time. You welcomed me into your family, blessed me at my confirmation, and cheered for me at graduation. I feel honored to have been an honorary Forsyth for a little while, to play dress-up with your daughter at the Centinela adobe, and to sing "On My Own" off-key in your office over and over again.

I promise I'll watch out for your daughter and, if she needs it, I'll lend her my dad for a little while. Because she's daddy's little girl as much as I am, and I don't even want to consider the thought of losing my daddy.

Computer geek, motorcycle man, NRA member and antique gun-nut: in many ways you shaped me, growing up. I carry your love of romance novels and Anne McCaffrey in my heart, and thank you for introducing me to the lurid world of online and how to see the world on the wings of a dragon.