My father, Charles Bowers, was a man of legend. The problem is that I only knew the legend for 14 years of my life. And, not only was I so young to lose my father, I was born when he was 60-years-old so there was a huge generational gap.

When I was a tot, age was not a big deal, but as I grew up, kids would make fun of me and say that my father was my grandfather. It felt terrible. When he died, I knew he was no longer here in this world, but somehow I felt he was always with me. Then unexpectedly, many, many years later I felt his energy go someplace else - to his new charge perhaps.

My father was born in 1902 in Vienna, Austria into an old wealthy family. His cousin first removed happened to be married to the Emperor Franz Ferdinand. Education and culture were the qualifier in those days, not money. He spoke seven languages fluently, played the piano like a virtuoso, was an experienced mountain climber, an opera aficionado, a Chevalier du Tastevin, and a ladies man. My mother was his 4th wife, he didn't have kids in his previous marriages, so we call those his "marriages flings."

My father was somewhat of a nomad. We were always on the move; we lived in the US, Mexico, and Europe. He loved the US for its order, cleanliness, and cocktails.

Even though time with my father was cut short, I believe that it was for a reason. Many times I have wondered what kind of life I would have led if he had lived longer. The one thing I know is that he would have wanted me to live my life the way he lived his: fully, vibrantly, without regrets.