Bunker Hill Day

Back in 1775 a grip of colonials fought a battle with the British during the siege of Boston. Seems they got wind of the Redcoats planning on setting up shop on some of the low hills around the town - Bunker Hill being one - and decided that denying said hill to the forces of King George might be a good thing. And so they did - for a time, at least; in the end, after the third round, the colonials retreated, but not before putting some hurt to the enemy while keeping their own casualties low.
About 156 years later, the lady in the apron gave birth to a boy child. An ornery sort of fella by some accounts(his Aunt Blanche) who was raised by his mom after she divorced his dad - in 1932! - somewhere in Wisconsin. She met a gent by the name of Lionel G. Reed, who became the little boy's stepdad and moved them out to the west coast. Richard - also known as 'Dick', 'cause you could be called that(and by golly, one of my best friends responds to 'Dickie') - proceeded to grow up some, become an Eagle Scout, fell in love, get in some trouble that landed him in the Army(they made an Airborne Ranger out of 'im), who took him to Korea for a bit, after which he came back, claimed his lady love, and moved on through his life in so many ways it would take too long to describe, especially since I've gone down that path already.
One of those ways turned out to be me.
While childhood with him was chaotic - wherever we lived, it was Dysfunction Junction - the moments of goodness and goofiness were there, too.
Eventually he came to terms with his addiction - somewhat thereafter I with mine - and we proceeded to share the last 9 1/2 years of his life enjoying each others company. I even got to learn a few more things from him along the way, made easier since I was now in my mid-thirties and more receptive.
He knew, as did I, that he was on borrowed time. He lived it with honor and did the best he could -Thanks Bill W and Dr. Bob! - and passed a few months before his 69th. Too soon, too sudden - at least for us left behind; but he was with my mom, travellin' and havin himself a time, and that was the happiest I'd seen him - he was with the Love of his life, after all.
His old pals and I have waxed nostalgic over the years since, about his honor and integrity, sure - but mostly about his sense of humor. Gods, he was crazy. Usually the only hint would be a twinkle in his eye and a slightly crooked grin - no other hint of the treasure trove of awful puns and plays-on-words that he could bring to bear on an unsuspecting victim. More simply, he was just plain fun, and a professional wiseacre.
He'd regularly remind me of what today is - usually ahead of time, and only the Bunker Hill part(as if, after many years of it, I'd actually need reminding) - but that twinkle was there...
Happy Birthday, Pa.