Category: Dad

Dad,

Happy Father’s Day. I miss you every day but especially today. I will never forget the lessons you taught me:

1. Always put family first
2. Hard work and perseverance pays off
3. Occasionally shoveling the neighbors’ walk or mowing their lawn creates a better neighborhood
4. Always cheer for two teams, the Packers and whoever is playing the Vikings (unless it is the Bears)
5. Taking in a stray animal builds compassion
6. Painting the ceiling the morning of a graduation party isn’t a good idea
   1. It’s hard to get paint out of carpet
   2. Furniture will only hide it temporarily
   3. You can’t hide things from Mom
7. Sacrificing yourself for others makes everyone’s life better
8. One of the purposes of grandchildren is to sneak you chocolate
9. Duct tape will hold up almost anything (except tuxedo pants)
10. If you have the means to help someone in need, you should do so
11. The gas gauge warning light is not a suggestion
12. Getting a station wagon full of kids airborne is really fun
    1. Having the engine light come on after landing – not so much
13. Be firm in your core beliefs and flexible in how you apply them
14. You should wear a suit to Christmas Mass, unless it’s your new track suit
    1. A jacket and tie over the track suit doesn’t help
15. Golf carts are not amphibious
16. Don’t take yourself too seriously
17. Don’t let others take themselves too seriously, either
18. Any time you can get a Catholic Nun to sing “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,” do it
19. Laugh often. Laughter lessens pain and increases joy
20. Leave everything better than you found it

You left this world better than you you found it, and we are all the better for it. I will try my best every day to live your legacy.

Tomorrow would have been my dad’s birthday. Occasionally, he would take us to this DQ for ice cream. He would give mom a much needed break from us kids. He taught us to celebrate life. He also taught us to always look out for others by making a point to bring something home for mom.

Today, I celebrate his life with his favorite DQ Double-Chocolate Double-Malt shake. Tomorrow is the traditional A&W root beer float. Happy Birthday Dad. Love and miss you.

My dad passed away two years ago today – 730 days.

730 – The number of times he attended games, meets, tournaments, performances, and graduations.
730 – The number of times he went hunting and fishing with his friends and family.
730 – The number of Double Chocolate-Double Malted Shakes and Rootbeer Floats ordered when he took us for ice cream.
730 – The number of times he would sneak table scraps to the dog while telling us not to.

730 minutes – How long he could spend working in the yard in a day.
730 – The number of times he mowed a neighbor’s lawn or shoveled their sidewalk.
730 – The number of things he stored in the basement because he ‘might need it later’.
7.30 – The average number of projects he would start at your house when he came to visit.

73,000 – The number of times mom had to warn him about something he was about to do.
73.0 – The number of times he actually listened to her.
730 – The number of epic stories that resulted from him not listening to her.

7.30 minutes – How long it took him to fall asleep when watching TV.
7.30 milliseconds – How long it took him to wake up if you changed the channel.

7.30 – The average number of trees he would hit in a round of golf.
730 yards – How far he wished he could hit a golf ball.
73.0 yards – How far he actually hit the ball before he finally gave up and started driving the cart.
730 yards – How far he drove the cart before it ended up in the creek.

730 – The number of Packer Games he watched.
730 – The number of games that a ref made a bad call if it went against the Packers.
73.0 minutes – How long he could talk about the last Packer game.
73.0 milliseconds – How long it took for him to come up with a snarky comment for Vikings fans.

730 months – The approximate number of months dad was active and taught us lessons of love, compassion, self-sufficiency and the importance of caring for others.
730 weeks – The approximate number of the final weeks dad was debilitated from his MS and taught us lessons of perseverance, courage, grace and the importance of allowing others to care for you.

730 days, he’s been watching us from above.
730 days, I wish he was still with us.
730 days, I’ve missed him.
730 days.