My dad was always a great storyteller. He could get anyone laughing so hard as he told stories of his childhood from his perspective. It didn't matter how many times I had heard them before or how young, or old I was when I initially hear them. He always made me laugh and seemed to have a way of tweaking his stories that, over the years, made them more enjoyable and memorable. 

Like the time he scared his brother off of the roof of the shed in their backyard. 

Or how he and his brothers would try to hide under their bed to escape their father’s punishment. 

Or the time he nearly ran over one of his sister's feet with the lawnmower. 

Those stories are all blurry now and I wish I had had enough forethought to write them down or record him telling them. So that I wouldn't forget the joy he got each time he told them. Or the twinkle in his eye that proved how mischievous he was as a child. 

But mostly, his laughter every time he told the stories because he, himself, still found them funny.