My father was the coolest father in the world. He was so cool, that he took us to the school where he was an art teacher, just to make things. He was so cool that I did not mind that he was the supervisor at our high school discos. He was so cool that he was invited to parties I organised after I left home to study journalism in Zwolle. He was so cool that he took me and what little I possessed to Scotland and was singing Hotel California with the less than average entertainment on the ferry. My father also passed away from causes related to alcoholism and I do not think I ever accepted his death. I know that this Running Thoughts contribution will not be the most popular one and it has taken me two months to write. But this time I decided to be courageous and write just for me.