Funerals.

My father, who is not dying any faster than the rest of us, and I were talking about funerals over lunch today. He told me that he had never thought about his funeral, when I told him what I wanted at mine.

He said he wanted to be cremated because he didn't think it was important for him to take up space. When I asked him what he wanted done with the ashes, he said to put them somewhere on the golf course or at Woody Gap in the North Georgia mountains.

He said he wanted some kind of party held at the golf course, with people telling the story of how he shattered a window there once with a golf club.

When we talked about music, he first said he wanted "The Lord's Prayer" sang - but sang quickly. He said he didn't understand why a 20-second prayer takes forever when someone sings it.

Then, when we were riding in the car together as he drove me back to my office, he listened to the radio and then told me that he thought Isaac Hayes' "Theme from SHAFT" would be a good song to have at his funeral.

I asks him, confused, "You mean, 'Who's the black private dick who's the sex machine to all the chicks?'"

He said, "Yeah, that one. People will like it."

So I told him that he would have that at his funeral - if I didn't die first. He told me that "maybe" he was kidding.

My funeral song is "Dedicated to the One I Love," originally done by The Mamas and the Papas. I'm going to be cremated. And everyone who knew me who attends the party after I die, because I figured people would have one anyway and I'd beat them to the punch, would have to tell a story about me. I figured that would be apt because I'm a storyteller.