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IPFS News Link • Death

Sleep Well, Space Cowboy

• by Rylla Cathryn Smith

How am I supposed to tell you who my father was? If you're reading this, then you probably already know of his career, of his politics, and of his steadfast defense of individual liberty.

I'm not my dad. Oddly, after a hard left swing in my teens and twenties, I've ended up more conservative than he ever was. But it's due in large part to his influence that I ended up here, and I owe him thanks that I never gave for his guidance, his friendship, and his endless support throughout my thirty-one years on this earth.

I shared this on Facebook the other day, but I think it will do to sum up my feelings, for now, anyway.

My dad was a pretty cool person. He was a science fiction novelist. He was a political commentator. He was a gunsmith. He was a great many things to a great many people. But he was something unique to me, and I had a privilege that no one else had, that of being his only child. He raised me to be headstrong and to have the courage of my convictions, to be a leader and not a follower, and to never back down when I believed I was right. This led to a great many arguments with my old man through the years. Sometimes he was right. Sometimes I was right. It didn't really matter. It still doesn't.