1992 vacation.

Dear Dad,

Crazy how it’s been a decade already.

FYI: Everyone STILL hates cancer.

I don’t talk about you much – not even to Mom.

But damn, I sure think about you – and smile a lot. For me, it’s more therapeutic to think to myself than discuss. #emotionalselfwisdom Crap. You probably don’t understand what that number sign is meant to be or why those words are all crammed together – and neither does Mom, who will end up reading this. It’s OK. Let’s just say a lot of things have developed in the last 10 years.

Things are going well. I am working on goals. Every day is a step closer toward my ultimate goal. Mom is doing well. She has worked her butt off since you past away in order to help me out throughout high school and college, and to this day, she is still doing it! It’s going to be hard to out-Mom her (I should say out-Dad her) one day, but hopefully I will be able to do that.

Back to that smiling thing. You provided me with lifelong memories, Dad. And I’m about to hash them out. From 25 to 1, although the top five could all be number one. Every single one of these memories/moments/things made you unique, and that’s awesome. I love you. I miss you. Now let’s smile!

25) You labeled every single Polaroid photograph you took. That Polaroid camera went through hell. You took that thing everywhere, and when you got behind, you would sit down at the dining room table and write, in pen, the date and an explanation of what the photograph showed. We still have all those stored somewhere – there has to be thousands if not 10,000.

24) You had some wacky mathematical system you wrote out for the Powerball; tons of paper with numbers on it; no one could ever figure it out.

23) You never went into the store with Mom. Hilarious. There was no fun in grocery stores or Wal-Mart unless it was something you needed. We would always play the claw machines though. You won way more than me.

22) You caught the fish; Mom cleaned the fish. We ate the fish. In other words, Mom did the dirty work; we had it easy.

21) You named your/our St. Bernard “Yogi” and there are too many memories to list within this list with that dog. Whether it was going to Dairy Queen to get him a cup of vanilla ice cream to eat or taking random trips to Go Mart to get gas and beer just so you could load Yogi up into the truck and go for a ride.

20) Crushing beer and soda cans in your garage so I had spending money for the beach. You barley paid me for all the grass I raked so this was my best income. You taught me how to crush’em, bagg’em and sell’em. (We always tried to make sure the price was 40 cents or higher per pound.)

19) You called the basketball game  “Around The World” “Round Town.” You were deadly from the right wing. That was your shot. Thing is, you were not into that many sports but you always found time to shoot hoops with me, throw baseball and football with me. I mean, I am sitting here writing this first draft at 3 a.m. and wish I could do that tomorrow with you.

18) You made me stop shooting basketball to hold the flashlight for you. Driving truck, you traveled a lot for work and spent three days away from home at times, so when you were home during the weekends, being a mechanic was your passion. And I was basically your designated flashlight holder. I tried to learn things, but in all honesty, I don’t remember much. You were a pro. You had every tool a man could own.

17) Speaking of those tools. Well, nevermind. That’s too good of a memory to put at number 17. That’s at least top 15. But for No. 17 we will stick with the mechanic side of things. You would read all kinds of random mechanic books – the kind that are meant to literally fix things. Like, 500 page manuals.

16) You and I would go Christmas shopping for Mom. That was fine. But the time and effort you put into wrapping gifts was priceless. You were a horrible wrapper … unless you took a half hour to wrap a package, which you did … for every … … … single … … … one! I helped with the tape. You were not going to put any of Mom’s gifts under the tree unless they met your standards of wrapping. No one could tell you were a bad wrapper, but what went on behind closed doors was several minutes of folding paper juuuust right. Continue reading →