About a Bob

He used to honk at strangers on the sidewalk outside my high school to embarrass me after he picked me up. He gets road rage worse than any person I know. He over-consumes cake and cigarettes. He can't play a board game without getting angry and quitting halfway through if the points don't go his way. Very few of his sentences fail to include a curse word. That's my dad. And I love him.\nWe've had a rocky relationship, I admit. During my childhood, circumstances were such that we couldn't spend time together daily. During high school, he was the last person I ever wanted to be around.\nBut I remember going fishing with him. I remember him making me the best-tasting pasta I've ever had. He can make me laugh harder than anyone in the world. And it seems to be his advice always makes the most sense to me. \nThere's more to my relationship with Robert Manchir than the special -- but still mildly cliché -- childhood memories. We're a hell of a lot alike.\nFirst, We have the same birthday (Valentine's Day, no less). Then, in 2002, I needed a bone marrow transplant after being diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He was my donor.\nMost parents can't be donors -- merely because they typically don't match their children's blood or marrow. My dad and I matched perfectly. On the day of my transplant (July 3, 2002), my dad underwent surgery to remove bone marrow cells from his hip. Just hours after they were obtained, they were put into my bloodstream. \nI've been cancer-free since.\nIn early April, my dad had his third heart attack while vacationing in Florida. Four days later, he was scheduled to have quadruple bypass (open heart surgery).\nIn case you're not familiar, open heart surgery involves breaking one's sternum to access the heart, and then to stop the heart. For a while last month, my dad was dead.\nPost surgery wasn't so optimistic. For four days he was in respiratory failure -- and, as my family would find out later, near heart failure too. I held his hand in the post-surgery clinic as he lay on a lonely sterilized hospital bed, essentially lifeless. I'd never been more confused or helpless. I didn't know what to do.\nA few days later, back in Indiana, I got a call from my (stronger than anyone could ever hope for) mom. The doctors are calling his recovery miraculous. They'll be home in weeks.\nIt's still a long road to full recovery, but Dad's going to be okay. And so am I. And we're going to be healthy together for a while. \nMy dad. He is crude and inpatient. And he's the smartest person I know.\nAnd, despite everything, he has a good heart. Not literally, though. \n(Zing! I thought you'd like that one, Dad.)