Few men in their 70s looked as good as my father did. What was his secret? Genes, maybe, since he didn't exercise or diet, and he kept a candy drawer, drank a pot of black coffee every day, and read in the middle of the night. Still, he took such joy in being a dad - and in life in general - and his happiness showed.

Cary Benjamin sleeps dreamily on my stomach as we're both bonding and recuperating. He's phenomenal.

It's something he used to say when he was happy. It could be a very, very simple day. We might be sitting out on the front lawn. Dad loved classical music and we might be listening to some Stravinsky or something and having some tea and eggs. And he'd say, 'Oh, good stuff, isn't it?'

Simple. Pared down. Timeless. The ties were never too thick or too thin; the pants were never too flared or too skinny. In my life with Dad, he wore Western apparel because we went riding - jeans, cowboy boots, the turquoise belt buckle. But it was all very simple, and that classic look is very 'Ralph Lauren.'

The grief of losing my father has come in waves over the years, as it does with most people. His love and devotion as a father provided my closest, most intimate relationship. Dad, and our time together, is in my bones. While reflecting on him, the memories themselves seem to boil down into certain 'essences of Dad.'

I have a lot of favorite films. I tend to love the silliness of 'Bringing Up Baby.' 'Charade' is fantastic. 'His Girl Friday,' the banter in that, that alone made me want to be a writer.

Dad has, and had, a deservedly glowing reputation. However, this belief in 'reputation first' seems to have given rise to his fears of what might be rumored after his death.