To the man who made me read my first Great Book. Who made me get a job when I would have rather spent the summer lounging around. Who let me drive his pickup when I was 16. Who spent one night each summer sleeping with us under the stars in the backyard, even if his back did hurt and that cat would kill a mouse and put it by our heads while we slept.
To the man who, when the city wanted his teenaged daughter to pay for a business license for her teensy, tiny tutoring business, dared them to arrest her.
To the man who “homeschooled” me simply by not talking to me like I was too young to understand…by giving me hard books and talking politics with us.
To the man who searched incessantly for doctors and diagnoses, rather than letting me waste away from Lyme Disease.
To the man who just happened to be cleaning his shotgun the first time I brought Siah home.
To the man that I have watched get better and better every year.
Happy Father’s Day.
I love you, Daddy.
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