Dad,
It's been a year since I saw you, heard you, hugged and kissed you. It feels like ages.
I watch old videos to hear your voice. That same voice with which you used to bicker with me. Always my contender; we'd match up nose to nose over topics like: football vs. "Life Goes On", just HOW smelly and bad for you cigarettes were, and whether or not I REALLY was "that sweet girl all your teachers" told you about at parent/teacher conferences.
However argumentative we could be, we also shared a deep respect for one another. I respected your courage as a police officer, your loyalty to your brothers on the force, and your ability to withhold hasty judgment of others. And I know you respected me. You believed more in me than I did in myself. You wanted me to be a lawyer; but I didn't believe I was capable of that. You believed in our ability to parent you special little "Sunshine" Evie; and you became our tender-hearted cheerleader on her Caringbridge site. Your writing moved and inspired the countless visitors to her site, and in everything you glorified God by lifting us up during some very dark days.
And, speaking of God~you always did, and were never ashamed of your faith. You knew that you, and all of us, were born with a sin nature, and that we all needed Jesus. You even tried to remind me that Jesus could be my Rock when I felt alone and scared. "Do you know who we're supposed to go to when we're scared and don't know what to do?" you bravely asked me, the 'crying-hypochondriac-nervous worry wart' that I was. And my brilliant response? "Dr. Quinn?" You replied with a chuckle, "I was thinking of Jesus."
You wrote us letters at Christmas, expressing to us your love, admiration, and adoration of us; your girls. We always knew to read those letters with a box of Kleenexes.
So...how could it already be a full year without you here? And, yet, how is that it's ONLY been a year?
As an aside, the infomercial industry continues to succeed in spite of your absence. I didn't think it could. The Chill-ow, the 9/11 minted collectible coins, and the car visors that have a flap that darkens your windshield like window-tinting would~All of them, STILL PROSPERING!!!
Dad, your legacy is embedded in our hearts. You taught us love, respect, tender heartedness, faith, and...well...how to turn a potentially short story into a doctoral dissertation.
Love you, and miss you...
Peanut
P.S.
Lena stepped up to the clerk in the department store and said, "Can I try on dat dress in da window?" The clerk responded, "We'd really prefer dat you try it on in da dressing room."
Aanenson, the wealthy milk tycoon was telling Ole about his new girl friend. "She's 30 and I'm 65. Do you tink I vould have a better chance of getting her to marry me if I tell her I'm 50?" "No," said Ole, "I tink you vould have a better chance if you told her you vas 80."
It's been a year since I saw you, heard you, hugged and kissed you. It feels like ages.
I watch old videos to hear your voice. That same voice with which you used to bicker with me. Always my contender; we'd match up nose to nose over topics like: football vs. "Life Goes On", just HOW smelly and bad for you cigarettes were, and whether or not I REALLY was "that sweet girl all your teachers" told you about at parent/teacher conferences.
However argumentative we could be, we also shared a deep respect for one another. I respected your courage as a police officer, your loyalty to your brothers on the force, and your ability to withhold hasty judgment of others. And I know you respected me. You believed more in me than I did in myself. You wanted me to be a lawyer; but I didn't believe I was capable of that. You believed in our ability to parent you special little "Sunshine" Evie; and you became our tender-hearted cheerleader on her Caringbridge site. Your writing moved and inspired the countless visitors to her site, and in everything you glorified God by lifting us up during some very dark days.
And, speaking of God~you always did, and were never ashamed of your faith. You knew that you, and all of us, were born with a sin nature, and that we all needed Jesus. You even tried to remind me that Jesus could be my Rock when I felt alone and scared. "Do you know who we're supposed to go to when we're scared and don't know what to do?" you bravely asked me, the 'crying-hypochondriac-nervous worry wart' that I was. And my brilliant response? "Dr. Quinn?" You replied with a chuckle, "I was thinking of Jesus."
You wrote us letters at Christmas, expressing to us your love, admiration, and adoration of us; your girls. We always knew to read those letters with a box of Kleenexes.
So...how could it already be a full year without you here? And, yet, how is that it's ONLY been a year?
As an aside, the infomercial industry continues to succeed in spite of your absence. I didn't think it could. The Chill-ow, the 9/11 minted collectible coins, and the car visors that have a flap that darkens your windshield like window-tinting would~All of them, STILL PROSPERING!!!
Dad, your legacy is embedded in our hearts. You taught us love, respect, tender heartedness, faith, and...well...how to turn a potentially short story into a doctoral dissertation.
Love you, and miss you...
Peanut
P.S.
Lena stepped up to the clerk in the department store and said, "Can I try on dat dress in da window?" The clerk responded, "We'd really prefer dat you try it on in da dressing room."
Aanenson, the wealthy milk tycoon was telling Ole about his new girl friend. "She's 30 and I'm 65. Do you tink I vould have a better chance of getting her to marry me if I tell her I'm 50?" "No," said Ole, "I tink you vould have a better chance if you told her you vas 80."
