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A word to the wise: If your father is dying, it is best not to leave the house or watch TV or listen to the radio for the month of June. Avoid all malls, grocery stores, florists, restaurants, bars, and anywhere with a TV or radio. The Father’s Day advertisements are EVERYWHERE, and they all tell me they know exactly what my dad wants this year. But let me tell you: He does not want the ultimate beer making kit. He does not want a tie or a mug. He doesn’t want a man-cave makeover in the basement. Nor does he have any interest in increasing his movie collection or getting tickets to see his favorite band. I already know what he wants: to pick his nose when he’s inclined, to eat the food off his neighbor’s plate at the table, to fart, poop, and pee wherever and whenever the urge presents itself, to wander at will around the dementia care facility, and to get and give hugs and kisses to anyone and everyone who smiles at him. So, until June 21st, I’m hiding in a hole I’ve dug under a rock hidden in a forest far, far away and surrounded with sound-proofed furry woodland creatures who give me wiggly-nosed kisses and don’t mind when I do all the things my dad wants to do.