I’ve been thinking long and hard about the things I wanted to say to you.  It seems like an opportunity to let you know how much I love you and how much you’ve meant in my life.  I hope, though, that you already know both of these things because we’ve shared so many wonderful (and frustrating) times over the past 34-plus years.

          Among the things I appreciate about you are your patience, your calmness, your ingenuity, your generosity, and your refreshing, “punny” sense of humor.

          It couldn’t have been easy “moving in” with such a bunch of want-their-own-way adolescents, ready to sing obnoxious songs about the Preacher and his habits.  But you did so with grace and good humor.  You let me drive (with your assistance) your one-of-a-kind Arno-mobile from Hein Park to 3470 Waynoka and explained 6 volt batteries along the way.  I was only 14 at the time.  When I was old enough to get a driver’s license of my own, you taught me to parallel park, the day before my test.  Talk about patience!

          You’ve always been ready to listen when the world didn’t make sense to me.  When my teenaged enthusiasm and inexperience had me rattled, I could always depend on you for sound advice.  I remember calling you from Montreat one summer when I was at a Youth Conference.  Some issue of great importance about the church had me worried.  I think it had something to do with building the gym at Evergreen.  I could tell that you were in the middle of something but you stopped what you were doing and talked it through with me.  Then there was the time the Presbytery Youth Council was at NaCoMe.  We got a bad rap from some of the other groups for our idea to wash everyone’s feet at the closing service.  When I came home upset that our good intentions had been misunderstood by some, you talked with me about the need for tolerance and understanding toward others.

          I love all the electronic and other gizmos you have around the house; lights in closets when you open the door, a monkey with clapping symbols, a unicycle-riding clown on a tight rope, secret hiding places, and more.  I particularly like the “voice of God” that emanated from the speaker attached to your first burglar alarm.  If I remember correctly, our one and only thief left more pocket change than he got away with!

          I remember fondly our lunches together when I worked at Southwestern Book Store.  I felt very grown up.  That’s probably why I like to order a coke and a cup of coffee.  But as you remember, in Greece I had to settle for two cokes!

          I am often reminded of your sage bits of wisdom

If it’s really difficult, don’t just use a bigger hammer, you’re probably doing it the wrong way.  Take a minute to investigate how it’s supposed to work and look for another alternative, and “all the world is crazy except me and thee, and thou art a little bit.”

          I am indebted to you for the sacrifice you made when you and Mother came to Seattle to take care of the children, Tim, and me.  What would we have done without your steadying presence, even temper, and indefatigable driving.  Honestly, I don’t know how we could have made it without you.  In addition, for all the stress (and crying over the wrong Happy Meal), our time together in Seattle was an incredible opportunity for Meghan and Christopher to get to know you in a way that would otherwise have been impossible.

          I can’t remember a time when you haven’t had a corny joke or a terrible pun to make me laugh, all of which I have passed on to others.  You’ve also nurtured my personal brand of humor (for which Andy thanks you and the children are appalled).  And it’s only now and then that you remind me that I wasn’t planning to go to college, get married, or have children.

          These are just a few examples out of many that demonstrate what a warm and caring father you are and the genuine friendship we share.

          There is one other thing, though, that is more important to me than all the others put together.  The thing for which I am most grateful to you is how well you have loved my mother.  This is truly a gift beyond measure.