Trusting me at a young age to shoot the 22 from the tailgate of the truck at the range, and teaching me responsibility.

Allowing me to borrow the truck, Blazer or cabin without a second thought – a generosity that extended beyond family, to friends.

In the office, calling me "3" in the Roman tradition of numbering their slaves.

Often times, I felt like I battled you, as you battled your disease – not showing you the patience or respect you deserved. Much of my long hours at work was with the hope of helping you and mom to have a long and comfortable retirement together.

It breaks my heart to think that you won’t be at my wedding… or be a grandfather to my children… but I know that you’re in a better place.

Dad, I love you and I’ll miss you "a thousand ohs".