John Andrew Bretz left this world the only way we should have assumed he would: impulsively, inappropriately, no heads-up, and without apologies. He was kind of an ornery ass, even in death. That was Andy. Andy was born in Tulsa to Erma and Keith Bretz (both deceased) on November 17, 1951. His older sister, Linda, made sure he knew who was boss from Day 1. Andy was born a cowboy and loved horses (and all animals) his entire life – even if they didn't always love him back. The fake teeth, broken ribs, broken leg, multiple contusions and falls from "those damn a**holes" were proof of the "love" his horses showed him time to time. That was Andy. Andy attended St. Pius elementary and then moved on to Bishop Kelley High School, where he convinced the prim, straight-laced Missy to date (and eventually marry) the drag racing, hooky playing, motorcycle riding, musician bad boy. Andy had a way with words…some called it charisma and some called it infuriating. That was Andy. Andy did sales his whole adult life; advertising, radio, car…you name it, he sold it. For someone who had social anxiety, Andy always hid it with his amazing sense of humor. If you ever interacted with him, you know he was one of the funniest humans ever put on this Earth. Inappropriate? Mostly. Vulgar? Oh ya. Pee your pants funny? 100%. That was Andy. His humor bled into pure, unwavering stubbornness too. Like the time he refused to acknowledge his broken leg after falling into a floor vent. Or insisting Diet Coke and coffee were just as good for his body as water. He was stubborn as a mule but was also one of the toughest guys you'd ever meet. That was Andy. Andy had a lot of loves in his life: chicken fried chicken, peanut butter with Fritos, vanilla coke, cinnamon bears, and apple fritters with a cup of strong coffee and just a smidge of real sugar. But, seriously, his biggest loves were his daughters and grandkids. He also had a deep love for his nieces and nephews, who some spent summers at the farm with him and Missy during their childhood. Andy loved nothing more than time with all the kids in his life. Teaching them how to ride horses, skin a snake, nurse a sick dog, use a knife as a can opener…but also dressed up for nail salon parties, doll tea parties, and would watch the endless, ridiculous skits put on by his daughters and their friends. He was the absolute best Dad, Pops and Uncle…period. He never missed a sporting event, dance recital, piano recital or any other nightmare event parents have to attend to watch their children. He never complained (even though he never enjoyed being in crowds or sitting through hours of 9 year olds doing ballet – he just showed up with the rented, of course, handheld camcorder and zoomed into film only HIS kids because "none of those other kids matter". That was Andy. The last few years of Andy's life he spent doing everything he loved: spending every Sunday night with his grandkids, going to all their sporting events, and traveling across the state and the country to see friends and loved ones. All his travels were in his beloved convertible, fondly named Sylvia. Driving and seeing secret spots across the U.S. gave him such joy and sparked his love of drawing and sketching again. He was Fonzie meets John Wayne meets Bill Murray. He was special, unique and unapologetic. That was Andy. Andy is survived by his daughter Meghan and her wife, Bekah; his daughter Katie and her husband Chris, along with their two children Carson and Camden. He is also survived by his former but friendly wife, Missy, and his sister Linda; a gaggle of nieces, nephews and friends. Oh, and a crotchety old cat with renal failure he named "Direct From Las Vegas". That was Andy. Although our hearts are missing a piece that he took with him, we know he is somewhere already cracking open a Diet Coke, sliding on his crocs, lighting a cigarette and finding somewhere on a map to visit. Can you see him? Wind in his hair, a smile on his face, and holding a bundle of love we all sent with him until we are together again. That's Andy. The world became a little less funny on March 29, 2021. Love you forever Dad…Pops…Andy.