My Hero

I think it is no coincidence that on a day that we as a nation set aside to recognize heroes, my own personal hero was born. My hero is my father, born November 11, 1950. Today is his 60th birthday, and if I had a few more dollars in my pocket, I'd be in Hawaii right now to celebrate it with him. If it weren't for that big blue ocean, I'd of hitchhiked my way there. Unfortunately since planes don't stop for hitchhikers (and I had no towel, nor a Sub-Etha Senso-Matic) I'm pretty much stuck on the main land.


It is hard for me to talk about how I really feel about my dad because it is impossible to feel manly while crying like a baby, and that is what inevitably happens each time I do. I also find that words don't do enough to really cover the depth of emotion I feel.

I love my dad. I love him for always looking for the positive. I love him for always looking for fun. I love him for sacrificing a nice car, sacrificing nice shoes, sacrificing knowing where his army flashlight is on the day he has to go out to the field, and so much more. I love him for being an example of provider and family man. Never once did I call him at work and have him make me feel that I was interrupting something important, or that I was intruding on his valuable time.

I love my dad because I know without a doubt that he loves me. He tells me so every chance he gets. He shows me every chance he gets. I love him for loving my mother. He taught me how to respect and cherish my wife through his example.

You can't see it, because I don't have a web cam, and wouldn't show you if I did, but I've been tearing up since word one. I know this post is short, and there is much more I want to say, but I'm drained. While the words are few, the emotions behind them are legion, and I'm spent.

Dad. I love you.

Happy Birthday.

You're my hero.