When I was a kid I really, really wanted a water bed. I just thought they were so cool, the way they jiggled. I remember asking my dad for one at the mattress store one time, and he got mad and said, "NO, that's no good. That kind of bed only for... yucky people." I never understood this when I was little, but now I'm pretty sure he meant water beds were only for porn stars.

Though I've taken it out recently, I got my naval piercing when I was in high school, and my ear piercings have also slowly started growing in number from around that time. I managed to hide my naval piercing from my dad for about 4 years, when one day I raised my hands to stretch with a slightly too-short shirt and my dad caught a glimpse of it.

Dad: "Ay-yah! What is that???"
Me: " ...O_O..."
Dad: " - Glances at my ears also- When did you get all those?!"
Me: "I had them..."
Dad: "...So I guess you have a LOTS of earring now."
Me: "...Yea..."
Dad: -Grumbles and goes back to organizing his book shelf-

This is the second dream I had about my dad since he passed, it is the best, and it is the worst. It is the best because I get to hug him for a full three seconds and feel one of his big, bear hugs again. It is the worst because of it's sheer realness, and because for a full two seconds after I woke up I felt hopeful, and I thought it all had never really happened.

I am my present age, and sitting in my own room. Everything about my room looks the same, and everything is quite normal. I'm sitting in my white chair watching something on tv, my door opens and my dad walks in but he's dad from the 70's. He has that long chin-length haircut, and wearing his favorite brown plaid shirt. As he walks towards me, he is smiling and says "I'm back! I'm finally back!" I stand up and we hug for a full three seconds while I'm sobbing uncontrollably. I wake up and I hope to see my dad, after two seconds I start to sob uncontrollably.

My dad loved Chevy's, the Mexican chain restaurant. Everytime we went (which was often) he always ordered the steak/grilled shrimp fajitas combo. He loved fajitas so much that my mom tried making them at home, and when he saw the spread he yelled "FAJITASS!!" Her version included fried rice with peas and carrots.

Ever since I could remember it was always my dad's dream for me to become a TV News Anchorwoman. When I was in grade school he'd bring it up every once in awhile, "When you grow up you should be TV anchor! I think you be good. Mommy and me born you here so your English very good, no problem. You be next Connie Chung!" When I entered junior high, "How about you be anchor?" When I entered high school, "When you go college, you should study and be anchor! I think you be good.. I think you be good!"

When my mom and dad were running that motel in Oxnard, the same motel where my dad would "practice" his "kung fu", some guy tried to rob my dad while he was working the front desk. From what my mom tells me, the guy had a gun and everything, and he was pointing it at my dad demanding money. My dad reached over to the cash register, but instead of pulling the cash out, he pulled the entire drawer out and slammed it unto the guy's head. He ran, firing some shots behind him, and luckily my dad wasn't hit, but only nicked with a dented coin that had absorbed one of the bullet shots. He kept the dented coin for awhile, but my mom made him get rid of it because she felt it wasn't good luck. My mom said he also bitch-kicked some belligerent customer in the chest and made him fly. It is pretty safe to say he was quite a bad-ass.

When I was 12 my mom and dad were in one of their huge fights where my mom would threaten to divorce him. I guess it was one of those times my dad really thought it might happen. It was around her birthday, and while she was at work he planned an elaborate surprise birthday/please forgive me party for her. He bought an icecream cake, a red table spread, two dozen red roses with sparkly heart sticks, and shiny heart confetti that he sprinkled about. I helped him set the spread, and he made her one of his homemade cards. When she got home I could see the surprise in her face, and the anger melting away. It was a very nice moment.

The first dream I had after my dad passed happened about a couple months after. I was somewhere bright, everywhere was white and hazy, like clouds. It was probably heaven, or somewhere like it. I remember feeling peaceful, and good. I saw my dad there, he was still bald and wearing a hospital gown, it was what he looked like when he died. I remember feeling weak when I saw him, gasping for breath because I started crying so hard, but I didn't say anything. We hugged, and he smiled and said to me in perfect English, "Look at you.. I miss you already."

My dad loved our first yorkshire terrier, Sachiko. Whenever she would have a bath, right after her blowdrying my dad would pick her up and say, "Oooh Sachiko sha-wah! You smell so good!" and rub her clean fur all over his face. I made this picture to illustrate what happened.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had the ability to constantly pop something in his ankle at will. Sometime it would just happen when he walked, I would hear it clicking away outside my room when he walked down the hallway. He would click it while making eggs on toast, waiting in line, or shaving.

My dad loved books, he collected hundreds over the years. They covered his book shelves, filled the insides of his drawers, and sat inside storage boxes. They spanned a wide range of subjects, from the previously mentioned self-help books, to casserole cooking, to origami-making. There was no way he could've read them all, let alone a fraction of them. He read something everyday, because as he told me when I was seven years old, "If you don't read everyday your face not look pretty, the day you not read, you ugly. I'm serious!" He's read the bible three times cover to cover.

My dad was one of those people that think they have a great idea, or product, and will make tons of money off said idea or product. When I was in elementary school he tried and failed at a number of business ventures. Case in point, water-purifying machines of some kind, making his own eye-wear brand called "LA Boy," opening up a Chinese fusion restaurant, and a couple others I can't remember. I think up until he passed, there were still random eyeglass frames lying around from "LA Boy."

When I was five, I remember my dad trying to help me with math homework. I always blew at math and always had a hard time getting the stuff. After not being able to answer the questions my dad got frustrated and in a scary, steady voice pointed to an equation and asked me what the answer was. When I didn't get the right answer, he let out a anger-ridden bellow, "JEESSSSIIICCAAAAA!!! AAGGGHHHHHHHH!!" I sat there, five years old, and terrified. I never asked him for help on math homework again.

Sometimes when I would go on car rides with my dad and we'd stop for gas, he would go inside to the store and come out with an ice cream for me. It was always a different kind, a popsicle, a strawberry shortcake bar, an eskimo sandwich.. it was random, and always a surprise.

My dad loved Vick's vapor rub, he would put it on almost any ailment. Headache, sore muscles, stuffy nose, congestion, anything. The day before I left for college, he said "Here! You need this" and handed me a small tub of cherry-scented kid's Vick's vapor rub.

Whenever my family would eat together, my dad would always pick off "the best part" of whatever we were eating off his plate and give it to me. This included, the crispiest parts of fried fish, the cheek of the fish, the tenderest part of a steak, or a perfect de-shelled piece of crab meat. He'd say, "Here, here, you eat, this best part!" while either waving his chopsticks in front of my mouth or just dropping the morsel unto my plate.

When I was in elementary school once in awhile when it was hot my dad would bring home myserious, small, reddish-brown seeds to make what he called "Chinese jello." I have no idea what kind of seeds they were or what they were even called. He would pour some into a cheesecloth and tie a rubber band on the top making a loose bundle of seeds. Then we would dunk the bundle into a large mixing bowl filled with cold water and start mushing and squeezing the bundle of seeds. Each squeeze released a cloud of clear, glass-like gushes of jelly-like stuff, after awhile the whole bowl was a clear, light golden bowl of Chinese jello. We'd let it sit in the fridge, and while it was setting up my dad would make a sweet juice with honey, lemon, and water. When the jello was ready we'd scoop up mounds of cold, clear, membrane-ey jello into the sweet lemon juice and have ourselves a treat.

I never let him see me cry about him. I wanted to be a mess, I wanted to throw myself into his arms and cry about the cancer, the chemo, the dying. I thought I was helping everyone from not becoming the broken down mess my mom had become. I regret distancing myself from him upon finding out. I regret not taking the time to try to get to know him, to at least try to work out our differences and misunderstandings. Most of all I regret not crying in front of him, not telling him how scared I was, how it killed me to even think about him not being around. I regret not telling him how much I fucking love him and how much I was going to miss him. I think he felt it was because I didn't care enough to. I will deeply, and painfully regret this for the rest of my life.

I got my first computer when I was in the seventh grade and it was a real novelty for my dad also. I used to sit with him and we'd put on Debussy's Clair de Lune from the Windows music files, and play solitaire on the computer for hours. Both our favorite part during those times was watching the cards flying out of their columns and bouncing on the screen after a game well-played. Clair de Lune used to be my ringtone for him, I would hear it every time he called. It remains one of the songs that fills me with emotion and memories upon hearing it.

My dad's office was like a mini office supply store, I could always find whatever I needed. Scissors, Three-hole punchers, notepads, gluesticks, super glue, push pins, paper clips, it was all there. A month or so after he passed I went into his office to find some super glue. I found not just one, but three new, unopened packets of super glue in his desk, and I lost it. I crumpled into a pile on the floor.