My Dad

These are my parents, Denny and Carolyn. They've been married almost 50 years. Today is my Dad's birthday. He's 74.

I could write the longest post ever to tell you how great my Dad is. I could tell all about the people who have been impacted by his life, the way all my friends love him, the way his teaching gift is so natural and relaxed, the way he loves to sail, kayak and camp, the way he wrestles on the floor with his grandkids and sends them friendly emails, the way he rubs his eyes when he gets to laughing really hard and the way he washes the kitchen floor all the time. I really could go on forever.

But Byron and I agree that one of the most favorite ways we experience my Dad is in the wee hours of dawn when we've just arrived home the night before from who-knows-where. We stagger in, jet-lagged and weird as all get-out. Mum has our beds all made up and inviting and, after talking till we truly make no more sense, we collapse into those comfy beds.

Next morning, when all is still in the house, when our jet lag has forced us awake despite our best efforts to the contrary, the floorboards creak and we know Dad is coming down the stairs. Soon we hear the kettle whistle briefly in the kitchen. And then it happens... Dad appears by our bedside with a fresh tray of tea.

"Morning!" He whispers, then turns to go, still holding his own tea tray to take upstairs.

We sit up, bleary and pajamad. Our minds clear a little with the hot brew and we feel unbelievably happy to be home.

Happy Birthday, Dad!
We love you so!