My Dad

The man who more than anyone probably realizes that I was so busy being a dad yesterday that by the time I had a chance to call I didn't even though I thought of him about 50 bajillion times yesterday.

The man who I would run down the street to meet on his walk home from work every day that I could.

The man who would allow me to fake falling out of bed every Saturday morning of my childhood so that I could get him out of bed to play with me. (Justice, thy name is Elaine.)

The man who would play like a horse and gallop me around the living room for what seemed like hours to me, never letting on that he was really keeping me out of my mother's way while she got five minutes to put dinner together.

The man who would eventually rise earlier than me and be in the basement with a fire going and an old Western on the television in the winter.

The man who would by great acts of bravery allow me to shave him with what I remember as a real razor.

The man who taught me to fish, garden, and try new recipes.

The man who taught me my faith and then allowed me to ask the most confounding questions about it that I could dream up.

The man who now plays the same games with my children that I remember from my childhood.

The man who will likely get calls every half hour today until he picks up so that I can pretend that it's still Father's Day.