My Dad

Sometimes, my dad thinks he was a bad father. He thinks that since he didn't take his kids fishing enough, or hunting, or to ball games, that he must be a bad father. He thinks that he just did not spend enough time with us. With that being said, he might find it strange that all of my childhood memories revolve around being together as a family.

I don't mean "being together" in that we lived together so we really had no choice (although, at times, I'm sure that was the case). I mean all those weekends we spent together as a family; all of those road trips we took together as a family. I still remember waiting with my brother for my dad to get off the bus from work. When we saw him, we would run up to him and he would greet us with a wide smile and a loving hug. I want my kids to look at me like that someday. I want my kids to look up to me the way I looked up to my father then. The way I still do now.

As a kid, there was never a jar lid too tight, a box too heavy, or a shelf too high for my dad. To me, my dad was Superman. And as far as I'm concerned, he still is.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you.