To my Dad.
Growing up, Dad was always working. I don’t have the fond memories of playing catch or going fishing or things like that, but that’s not who my Dad is.
I remember going to Disney World. A few times.
I remember him calling me in to see Snake Plissken’s introduction in ‘Escape from New York’ and watching Rambo crash through the police barricade in ‘First Blood.’
I remember playing Frisbee in the back yard and riding around in the go-cart with him.
I remember him walking out to me in the back yard, still wearing his suit, to discipline me for throwing dirt clods over our back fence and into traffic.
I remember the respect everyone gave him that worked with him at the Food Shows.
I remember him reading Calvin & Hobbes to me.
I remember him bringing home my first Nintendo.
I remember him teaching me to ride my bike on an Easter Sunday.
I remember him giving me the keys to the Scorpio.
I remember going price checking with him.
I remember how tired he would be after working all day.
I remember watching countless hours of John Wayne movies with him.
I remember sitting and listening to Johnny Cash with him.
I remember the day I saw my Dad as a man and not a god.
I remember going shooting with him.
I remember talking to him the day he learned of his impending divorce, and how shaken he was.
I remember embracing him a few hours later after driving to Topeka to be with him.
I remember how eager he always is to talk to me when I call him.
Love you Dad.