Today would have been Dad's 73rd birthday. I found this photo of him while going through some old papers. I'm not sure when this was taken, but it was during one of his years as a school teacher in Springfield, Oregon. He's been gone now almost 9 years. Wow. How time flies.
Sometimes I feel a little jealous that I don't get to spend time with him. I feel bad that Benjamin and Emily didn't get to know him in this life. Ben was three when Dad died and he has very little if any memory of him.
It's a similar situation to when my Grand-dad Webb died. I was very young also, maybe three or four and my only memory of Garland is of him sitting in a leather chair laughing at something. I'm not sure if he was laughing at me or because of me but I knew that he loved me, because he was my Grandpa.
Thanks, Dad. Thanks for everything. Thanks for teaching me how to be a good person. Thanks for being there when I needed you.
Some of my earliest memories of Dad is sitting in the playroom of that house on 7th Street. We would build tiny fortifications out of Legos or Lincoln Logs or blocks and then set up our armies behind them. Then we would take turns throwing a ball at the armies, trying to wipe each other out. Dad was always a better shot than me but I loved to play anyways. I miss doing that.
Love you, Dad. Happy Birthday.