I remember that my father always had black licorice in an orange and yellow canister at his house when we visited on weekends. I remember that he brought me wrestling magazines when I was hospitalized for a kidney infection in junior high. I remember that the bed I had at his house had one of those bookshelf headboards with secret cubby doors that you could hide all sorts of treasures in. I remember that he collected coins and gemstones. I remember that I once found an antique diamond ring while walking with him through a park. Sadly, though I do not remember ever hearing him say "I love you."