Now you ARE paying to heat the outside.

Remember all those times you yelled that at me, Dad? Remember? I’d hesitate for a second or two in the doorway and you’d bellow “Close the door! We ain’t paying to heat the outside!”

Ha ha. It didn’t matter if I was knocking snow off my boots, or waiting for Tim to catch up. I was just a kid trying to keep the carpets dry, or help my little brother into the house. But you didn’t care. All you saw was pennies evaporating into the winter air. “Close the door! We ain’t paying to heat the outside!”

Or was it even about money? I bet you spent more on Benson & Hedges in two days than I cost us, total, in all those moments I held the door open. No, Dad. I don’t think the money really mattered. I think you just saw an opportunity to bellow a wisecrack, to step in to take care of a situation the way you never took care of your diet, your drinking, your chronic rage. “Close the door! We ain’t paying to heat the outside!”

Then again, maybe money was an issue. All you left me were those old racing forms, a pair of drugstore reading glasses, some work gloves that don’t fit, and 75 bucks. Oh, and your voice ringing in my head: “Close the door! We ain’t paying to heat the outside!”

I’ll tell you what I did, Dad. I took that 75 bucks and bought a PureHeat Patio Heater. It provides 5100 BTUs of warmth so I can have friends over for barbecues even when it’s cold out. Friends who never yell at me for fishing wrong, or say my hair makes me look like a girl. Even with the PureHeat’s fume-free, windproof electric heating, it gets chilly out there sometimes. But never as chilly as you made me feel.

I’m closing the door, Dad. On the past. On the pain. And thanks to that 75 bucks, you ARE paying to heat the outside.