Stoli Vodka Martini With Three Olives

The title of this post is named after my father’s favorite drink.

He, Harry Joe, died one year ago today. I didn’t know much about him, having grown up from the age of three to the age of 18 in California, and him living all those years in between New York and D.C. I saw him once when I was six, got a telephone call from him when I was 10, and then once more when I was 16. When I enrolled at Howard, he was living in D.C. at the time, so of course I initially thought it was an opportunity for us to rekindle our relationship with one another.

I was wrong.