Chaotic good

Growing up, I thought my father’s full-time vocation was embarrassing me.

This was a self-centered view, of course. But I was a hemmed-in, quiet kid, while my father was an expansive, boisterous soul who gave out hugs like candy at Halloween.

I was a congenital rule follower. My father never met a rule that he didn’t want to go out of his way to disobey. To him, a “No Parking” sign was less a construct of an ordered society and more of a dare.

All of this led to a lot of pain for me, at least in my own head. My father never meant any harm, ever. He was what we in the D&D-adjacent community might call “chaotic good.” Still, that was difficult to stomach for someone like me, who always felt strongly that spontaneity has its time and its place.

He would walk up to pretty much anyone at any time and say whatever popped into his head. He would rope me and my friends into listening to his endless shaggy dog story jokes. He would dare me and my brothers to flaunt what he saw as meaningless rules. He had a manic energy that kept me alternately cringing and rolling my eyes, wondering what he would cook up next.

He never cared what anyone thought of him. Only after he was gone did I realize that was a strength, not a weakness.