For all of our differences, at times fundamental as they were numerous, Anthony Gambino was the best father I could have been born to and raised by. Blood always seemed to run more thickly than friendship to him, with work ethic and never-ending intellectual development following closely behind. Earning his love as a family member was a given. Earning his pride was a different story altogether, which is why his means more to me than anyone else's given the paths I've followed strayed far from the more secure ones he would have preferred. The outpouring of love, condolences, and support from the Twitterverse and beyond are surprising as they are staggering. For someone with such a fervent public following amassed under a lovably absurd, satiric, and politically incensed persona, he was often a private, serious man in real life, obsessed with work, providing for family, and cultivating the perfect home which he rarely left other than for work or visiting my Nonna, especially towards the end. He came from uncertainty and scarcity, which he made up for by putting so much food on the table it'd make you full just to look at it, and making sure you knew he loved you even if he was unsure how to always show it. On the exceptionally rare occasions he spoke of his difficult upbringing and the trials he faced throughout his life, it was almost always as fact, rarely a lamentation, never seeing fit to hold his problems above anyone else's and instead choosing to embrace the philosophy that although your trauma may not be your fault, it IS your responsibility, often to a degree that placed a weight on his shoulders that would have made Atlas himself falter. I don't say this because I want my father to be remembered for anything but his best--I know that everyone will, however long and in whatever capacity they knew him, regardless of what I say--but so that everyone knows that the love, laughter, guidance, and monumental professional output he provided wherever he went was in spite of circumstances and impossibly high self-imposed standards that few would be able to survive, much less thrive under as he did. He taught me much, more than I'll ever truly be able to comprehend or appreciate as much as I should have. How to catch and hit a ball, play on my first computer and Gameboy Color, and do math, however much I dragged my feet and made it clear to him that I would never be the numbers guy he was. The difference between being nice and being kind, and how much more important it is to be kind even when you struggle to be nice. Never a skip a day of work, unless it's your birthday. That anger is not to be inherently shunned so long as it is righteous, measured, and aimed toward those and the institutions they serve that seek to undermine justice. He taught me that money is the most important thing. He taught me that money is the least important thing, especially when you don't spend it on yourself to reward yourself and take a break when you have worked so, so hard for it and everyone around you knows you should. He inspired me to wrestle with the the infinite complexities and dynamics inherent to relationships between fathers and sons through essays on tragic literature I've been writing since high school that I'll never get to show him, and taught me that I may have a much better understanding had I taken my eyes off the page and just spent more time talking to him and asking him how his day was. I could go on, and on, and on. I'd just like to offer gratitude to all the family, friends, and community of online followers that kept him company and gave him strength, inspiration, and purpose, especially towards the end. For all the family and friends that he chose to keep close, I always felt he lacked a community throughout his life and am just so unbelievably happy he finally found one that saw him for the brilliant, hilarious, coffee-obsessed cult of personality that he was underneath it all. Beyond the grief, I am infinitely grateful that he is finally no longer alone or in pain, but somewhere that is constructed of only radiant love, warmth, and cosmic understanding that he has deserved from the moment he was born. My father was always a devout lover of 80s music, but to borrow a line from Hendrix: in death, "all you're doing is getting rid of that old body." I love you Dad, and can't wait to see you on the other side.