My dad was the epitome of effortless cool and it stayed with him until the day he died. If you ever think he cared about what you thought of him, chances are you are mistaken. He had as much self-assured mojo at 400lbs as he did at 190lbs. When he walked into a room, he owned it, even without saying anything. If he was pissed off, the whole room could feel it like a dark cloud, and if he was feeling jovial, he would have everyone laughing in a heartbeat. He was an unparalleled storyteller and his campfire circles are legendary. A true original whose blood I am honored to have in my veins.
The most proud of my dad ever made me was when he had the courage to stand up for his beliefs and walk away from the church that had been his employer and his whole world for more than two decades. He had to start over completely in his mid-forties with a brand new career in a brand new place, and he never complained about it. That, my friends, is true courage. He started driving buses, then working on the cleanup crew, and before you knew it, he was a tenured maintenance foreman in the shop and the rep to the union, with his entire shop looking up to him. He was proud of his work and he knew his talent and work ethic were something special. He told me on a fishing trip once that leaving the church was the hardest thing he ever did, and I believe him, but I also know that he was always confident that he had done the right thing. He loved his land and his cows and his friends and he was proud of his job, and in the last couple of years our family was closer and happier than we have ever been.
His sharp mind, witty candor and unflappable charisma made people gravitate to him, and to love him. He and I had our share of conflict, but the older I get (and the older my boys get), the more I realize that those conflicts are unavoidable byproducts of teaching someone how to think and fend for themselves. Only as a parent have I begun to understand where he was coming from and how difficult it is to raise children to be independent, critical thinking and strong.
Anyway, all this to say: I love you dad. I am so proud of you and I appreciate everything you taught me and I will do my best to teach (most of) those things to my sons. I wish you were still here with us, but I am so happy you didn't suffer the indignity of a drawn out terminal illness - like you always said, "I'll die before I have to wear diapers." You were right.
