Sunday, June 21, 2015
Dad, you gave me life. You delivered me in the back seat of the car. You loved and cherished me. You taught me love, tolerance, forgiveness. You taught me about the world, about nature, about laughter, sharing, and life. You taught me how important friends and family are. You taught me the necessity of truthfulness and how to tell little white lies so someone you care for doesn't get hurt too badly. You taught me to cherish every living thing on this earth, even those beings who do not like me. You taught me to give my heart freely, to express myself in any way that I can, and to explore my own mind. You taught me how to drive a car, how to change a tire, how to put my car engine back together, how to logically figure out why it wouldn't run. You taught me that hard work may not pay off immediately, but that it's best in the long run. You taught me to always do my best, and to not give up or give in. You taught me how to observe quietly and draw my own conclusions. You taught me math shortcuts that I still use today. You taught me card games that heightened my math skills and my memory. You taught me how to identify the tracks of wildlife, how to sit quietly and become one with nature. You taught me how to hunt and fish, and to kill other creatures only when necessary for my own good or for food. You taught me to respect life. You taught me to question, but respect, authority. You taught me how to give myself entirely to the one I love. You read a lot, you wrote poetry for Mom, you made me look at the absurdities of life, you taught me to question why. You died when I was 24 years old. You were 57 years old. I never had the time to tell you how much I love you; how much I appreciate you; how much I wish I could tell you now how silly and immature I think I was then. You are deeply loved. You are greatly missed. I love you, Daddy.