Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

`After all the years together, there's something I wanted to tell you . . .'

That's how many of the hundreds of responses to our request for Father's Day letters began. As we were on Mother's Day, we're overwhelmed by the number of you who wrote and at what you said - at the emotion and the memories. Today, along with Seattle Times columnist Nicole Brodeur, we're running excerpts from as many of your letters as we can. We wish we could do more. Regardless, the best thing you can do today is to read your letter to your dad, or to someone who knew him. Thank you for writing.

"Give me the eyes of a child and I will endure this aging body - for the vision in those young eyes will make my heart glow warm again."

As you know, Dad, those are words of a poem you wrote when I was young. I know it hasn't always been easy for you to see the bright side of life, including the ability to see what you have brought to our lives.

I haven't lost the vision of my young eyes, Dad.

- Renee Balodis-Cox, Redmond

When you died, I was in my early 30s and so focused on my career and raising two sons of my own, I hardly noticed. Oh, I cried at the funeral, and I've had long talks with you when visiting your grave, but it's only been lately, when faced with my own mortality, that I wish those conversations weren't so one-sided. I'm sorry I was arrogant while you were with us, but life hadn't "happened" to me yet. If I'm with my sons this Father's Day, I hope the weather is nice so we can go outside and play catch. I'll work you into the conversation, Dad. I'll let them know, again, that "Red River" was your favorite movie, that you made the best sandwiches in the world, and that you were pretty good at playing catch yourself. After all, you taught me.

- Cal Campbell, Seattle

The following (excerpt) was written by my son, Alex Wood, in 1994. I am quite proud of it and my son.

- Cecil Wood, Port Townsend

From the time I could walk until I graduated from high school, I was constantly made aware of certain behavioral patterns that my dad would like to see me follow. And like most young people, I interpreted these "suggestions" to be something that parents have to say, part of their job: "If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing right." "Do your share." "Pitch in." "Stick to your word."

Now, as an adult, I am aware that the speeches did indeed have merit. I have proved this to myself on countless occasions.

Last year, I replaced my badly leaking patio roof. I lacked the money to do the job correctly, but I wanted a new roof in the worst way. I tore into the old roof with the zeal of an 8-year-old on Christmas morning. After a day of removing old roof panels and rotted framing, I was ready to begin the task of rebuilding. Calls inquiring about supplies made it painfully obvious to me just how financially unprepared I was to begin this endeavor. But I was committed and cursed with the enthusiastic inertia of a freight train. Rushed and unprepared, I replaced the roof. The new roof kept my patio dry for a few months, but the deficient materials quickly made their presence known. By not waiting until I had the money to do the job correctly, I am now faced with the disheartening task of replacing my roof again.

I recently brought myself to tell my dad that I am aware of his message, and that I now see what it was he was trying to convey to me. He seemed genuinely pleased to hear this. There is one thing that is still a mystery to me, though. Why is it that the older I get, the smarter my dad becomes?

- Alex Wood, Hawaii

There was a moment, Daddy. Do you do remember it?

We were driving in my car: the old Volvo that you endorsed, that you understood, when no one else would. You used to have an old car of your own.

We were driving mine around one glorious Sunday morning during your visit here, headed nowhere in particular. Mom took a photo of us pulling away, but she didn't have to. I had already captured it in my head forever, even as it was happening.

We drove along, silent but smiling. For a while, I felt as if I was looking at us from above, watching the shadows of the trees pass over the windshield, like a scene in a movie. It was, in a way: something I had daydreamed about, but was so afraid it would never come true. I don't know why.

When we got to the bottom of the hill, the car stalled out.

Neither of us said a thing. Neither of us panicked. I just turned the key, the car started back up, and we were on our way again.

Your smile never faded.

I knew at that moment that we were the same, of the same mind and from the same place. And that I have turned out more like you than I ever imagined. Maybe than you ever imagined, either.

We went through a lot to get there.

A few months ago, you said something that hurt my feelings. You downplayed a project that was important to me, and I said nothing. Instead, I held your words inside of me, as I tend to do, especially when it comes to family.

I rolled those words around in my mind and my heart, trying to sift the hurt from the lesson. It is a wearisome exercise. I am getting too old for it, and you deserve better.

So I decided to say something. I knew if I didn't tell you about the hurt, one day you would ask me to pass the salt, and I would rip your head off.

So I called you a few days later, nervous as hell, and told you how I felt. I drew a few lines in the sand, called you on your expectations, and said I was doing my best. My best.

You apologized profusely, and told me a few painful truths of your own. About expectations you never met, despite your best. Your best.

That changed everything.

"Congratulations," a friend told me after that phone call, "for treating your father like a human being."

It's a simple premise, but an impossible thing to watch - letting you fall from hero to human, without turning my head, or bruising your ego.

But we landed all right. Stalled out, at the bottom of the hill, but still smiling.

And now we are just continuing on our way. More human. More like us than ever before.

- Nicole Brodeur, Seattle Times staff columnist

Nicole Brodeur's column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday in The Times. Her phone number is 206-464-2334. Her e-mail address is nbrodeur@seattletimes.com.

------------------------------------------------

I never made you a Father's Day card or picked out one of those goofy striped ties for you like all my friends did for their dads. We didn't go to the Father-Daughter dance in high school and I never once asked you to help me with my homework. You never saw me graduate from college or questioned the boys I dated. You didn't come to my wedding and have never seen my daughters, your only grandchildren. We were close once, briefly. I have a picture of you holding me when I was 6 months old. You are young and handsome and there is joy in your face, joy that only weeks later a massive heart attack would silence.

But for 47 years I have loved you, and even more, grown to cherish the parts of you that ultimately became me. So, happy Father's Day to all the men who will touch their children in ways they cannot yet dream!

- Helen Hudson Weaver, Bainbridge Island

You have always been a man of few words. With that in mind, I'll speak my heart concisely yet exactly . . .

Every father wants his children to become better people than he was. If I'm ever fortunate enough to come close to where you are now, I'll have considered myself fortunate and you can call it even.

- John Smistad, Olympia

My mom married you when I was in the seventh grade, which technically makes you my stepfather. And since I was a teenager (enough said, right?) with opinions on everything from the cutest boy at school to the Mariners' chances to my mother's engagement, I had plenty to say about the latter. It wasn't that you and I didn't like each other; we just didn't see eye to eye. After all, the only two things we had in common were sports and my mother - not much to go on. But in the past 17 or so years, through a few frustrating and tear-filled times of healing laughter, something magical happened.

You became my father.

- Candace Coalman, Seattle

Thanks for all the picnics at Cherokee Bay, for playing catch with me, for paying attention to me, for encouraging me and, although I never thought I'd say it: "Thanks for being strict with me."

Now I know why you raised all eight of us this way. I know because I parent my own children, your grandchildren, in a similar fashion. I love them far too much to allow them to think that the world owes them an education, a job or a free ride.

Thanks for never letting up, Dad. You have given me the strength, by your example, to be an unpopular parent for the ultimate good of my children.

- Mary Jensen, Lake Stevens

For not being mad when we laughed at you while you were stuck in the mud on our camping trip.

For not being mad when we laughed the time you proudly sat on and broke the chair you thought you had just fixed.

For signing my "D"- and "F"-graded papers so Mom wouldn't see them.

For yelling "Yo, Therese!" to get my attention through the thousands of other parents of UW graduates.

For walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, and joking that I could still get out of it - and for knowing that I didn't want to get out of it.

For being.

- Therese Chinnick, Renton

Your death was tragic, but I don't think we have to remember you or define you by it. The rippling of grief that we all felt will make us stronger and, hopefully, more wise.

I had constantly heard of heroin-related deaths among homeless youths in my social-work classes at the UW or in professional conversations with other social workers. Not my dad! My dad? My dad. When the nurse gently told my family "it is time now," I laid my head on your chest and held you in my arms as your body stopped fighting for breath. I whispered over and over, "It's OK, you'll be safe now."

I would like you to know that in my life, except for the last difficult few years, you were always the one who made me feel safe. As a child and adult, when you held me in your arms, I felt like I was in God's arms. You chose to live in a place where I could grow up feeling free and adventurous. Your passion for the night sky illumined me. Your ideas about social justice gave me my future as a social worker. Your ability to sing and dance to all songs gave me the joy of listening and the ability to move my body. Your love and unfailing belief in me gave me confidence. Your tenderness gave us all the ability to receive love.

I don't know the answer or answers as to why your path veered toward your premature death, but I really want you to know that I carry no blame. For that would be useless. I carry hope. Hope for you. Hope for me. Hope for humankind, with all its sorrow and glory. I thank you for being my father; may you dance with the stars!

- Piper Sangston, Seattle

Even though you're blind, I can't believe you got a law degree. It has set a good example for me, and I have learned from you that I can do anything that I want to do in life. You always play with me, and even though I don't say thank you, that doesn't mean I don't try to remember. Thank you for all you've done in my life.

- Jaimie Lee McDonald, Lynnwood

My feet, firmly rooted to the polished hardwood floor, ached from an eternity of standing as you lectured me on the ways of the world. Dignified words, tinged with your strong British accent, raked the entire room, never stopping to rest, weeding my mind of prejudice and hate, plucking each intolerant opinion from my thoughts as though a mere dandelion in the grass. Your voice continued, watering my mind with values and discipline, cultivating pride and reverence in me that I would carry into the future. Year after year you poured your wisdom into my being, as if compelled to saturate me with every seed of your knowledge. Your voice is silent now, Dad, but your seedling was listening.

- Katherine Godfrey Malloy, SeaTac

This is a (excerpt from a) letter I wrote to my father back in 1995, when he was terminally ill in a nursing home. When he died in 1996, I found the letter in the drawer of his hospital bed-table, on top of his few other most treasured things.

Dad:

The place is almost ready to sell. As I stood in the empty living room last night, I was struck hard by the sadness of it all.

I wish you could have 20 more years. You deserve it. I wish we could have just gone on and on - you in the trailer and me visiting you every week, watching football, sharing laughs and bad lines.

You weren't what some would call a textbook dad, but for me you were a damn good one.

I'll never forget your grin and growly, friendly laugh. Your ridiculous generosity and kind nature. Your sense of humor and intelligence. Your passion. Your painting. Your soul. Your fishing talent - never saw anyone like you there. Your bowling. Your love of music. Your terrible puns.

You've taught me many things in life. One of the most important was to do something I loved. I owe my success to this point to that lesson.

It's been great for me, and I hope it's been great for you. I love you, Dad. I will never forget you.

- Mike Wiegand, Mill Creek

I don't remember the day you adopted me and brought me into your home, but I will never forget always feeling as much your daughter as your biological kids. You even gave me a name that made me part of the family, always called me your "daughter of the highest caliber" and told me, "Pretty girls don't talk like that."

As teenagers, I know we were all a nightmare, especially me. You were so patient and loving toward me. No matter what I had done, you always were forgiving. Always consistent. You always showed your love for me. You punished me and encouraged me to do the right thing.

Now that I'm an adult with children of my own, I greatly admire and respect what you did and continue to do. It could not have been easy dealing with so many from such different backgrounds, but you did it. And even though our family isn't perfect, we owe our successes to our father, who instilled such greatness in us.

- Andrea Givens, Seattle

Father's Day is a special part of my life because I enjoy the relationship my husband has with our six sons and daughters. He loves them and is a superb father. And, they love him back.

However, for me personally, the day is a difficult one. In 1925, when I was 6 months old, my father left me, and I never saw him again. If I were to compose a letter to him, it would be a short one, and it would be one that I have carried in my heart for many years.

My letter to my father: "WHY?"

- Barbara M. Hansen, Anacortes

I was just a baby when you died. Though I couldn't see you, I always felt that you were near.

Now that I have children of my own, I hope that in some way you can guide me in bringing them up right.

Hopefully, you know that I love you.

- Choch Spottedhorse Nickerson, Enumclaw

My most hurtful moment: When we learned together that certain things weren't exactly correct! For example, when I burned my finger and your idea was to put butter on it to take the pain away.

Most exciting moment: When we found the bottle that had traveled by water all the way from San Francisco and we wrote back to the person who addressed it.

Saddest moment: When I had the flu and chicken pox and you brought me the stuffed dog. Although I made it through the illness, he didn't. The washing machine just could not wash some things out.

Whether you know it or not, you taught me the best life advice.

How to appreciate nature and walks as cheap, reliable happiness and relaxation. Harping on regrets wastes energy and time; learn from them and move on. But my favorite is: Nothing in life is permanent except for death . .

- Mashiya Davis, Seattle

I knew it was my father's job to enforce and uphold the public peace, and that he and his fellow officers routinely put a stop to disorderly and dangerous conduct.

The earth will always have a certain measure of those who are troubled or disturbed, and who therefore lack internal peace. Because the nature of law enforcement requires that they deal directly with many such people, police officers often bear the brunt of their anger, desperation or bitterness.

Although my father made many arrests and won many criminal convictions in his career, it was as a parent, not as a police officer, that he vividly demonstrated to me how peace is more than just a concept. I learned this lesson when, as a pre-adolescent, I decided to take up percussion. The choice was the least tranquil of all possible alternatives.

Now, more than 20 years later, I still warm with amazement remembering the day when I came home to the surprise gift of a drum set. I was 12 years old, and the knowledge imparted to me was that my dad loved me very much - more than peace, more than quiet.

When home remains home, as familiar and natural as an old habit, the fortunate heart harbors a powerful and sustaining peace. Thanks, Dad.

- Brenda Fritsvold Arline, Seattle

You taught me how to dig clams and never turn my back on the ocean. Just as in life, the waves need to be watched so that you don't get knocked down too much. When I do get knocked down, I get up, wring out the water and keep on going.

- Suzanne Ruth, Covington

We've been without you for almost 17 years now, but you are always in our hearts and thoughts. I am 32 years old, with a very beautiful 4-year-old son whom I know you watch and protect every day.

On your birthday I took him to a Mariners game and told him we were going with you, which probably wasn't a good idea . . . because at one point he wanted to bring a toy. When I said he couldn't, he asked how Grandpa was going to see it, which of course caused me to cry.

I used to be afraid that I'd forget some of you - your voice, your laugh, your smell - but I find myself telling stories about you quite often and saying some of the "silly dad things" you would say.

Thank you for teaching me how to be a fun parent and being my best friend.

- Ruth Gardner, Seattle

By this time I am probably old enough to start addressing you by your first name, but I will continue to call you Dad and with a capital "D," because you deserve the respect. Because you have earned the respect.

- Matthew Shaffer, Kirkland

You always took care of your girls. You provided us with a nice home and food on the table.

Beyond that, you always treated us like little ladies. You opened our doors, walked on the outside of the sidewalk, made sure we used manners. When I bought my first car you would check my oil, fluids, tire pressure, etc., on a weekly basis without being asked. After I got married, if I ever needed a ride, you were there, no questions asked. Now I have three daughters, and if they ever get sick or need a ride home from school, you are there for them!

You told me recently that the doctor found cancer and you need surgery. They also said you probably wouldn't make it through surgery, but that it's your only hope.

You taught us God is our hope. God also knows how much we need you. For all the times I never said thank you for being there, I'm saying it now.

- Tammie Coffin, Lynnwood

You have been the husband to our mother for 53 years now. In doing so, you modeled commitment, loyalty, respect, and true love.

You have been a hard-working man with a skilled trade who went to work every day. In doing so, you modeled a strong work ethic and provided for your family.

We grew up listening to the sound of beautiful Spanish melodies whistled or hummed by you. In doing so, you kept our ethnic heritage alive.

We watched you and your brothers and sisters come together to play cards, talk, laugh and be together, even in the sad times. In doing so, you modeled the strong family value of loyalty.

- Ardie Alonzo McLean, Bothell

One of your best qualities is that you are a hard worker. You went back to school to become a teacher. Now that you are a teacher, you try to make your class as exciting as possible. And while you are doing all that, you still manage to take care of three kids. You're amazing!

- Michelle Harvey (10), Federal Way

When I was 8 years old, I saw you pick up a wallet, look in, see money and take it directly to the police station. When I was 10, I wanted an "Annie Oakley" rifle, and you brought it home from work. I saw you talk to the boy's club that wouldn't let me in because I was a girl. I wanted to learn how to shoot a rifle and hunt. You stood and talked on my behalf for about a half an hour. You told me that no matter what people may think and if you understand you are right, then you "stick in there."

- Carol Craig, Yakima

What I remember you saying was:

-- Standing in line sucks.

-- You and Dick Van Dyke could be twins (although he danced better than you did because you were missing a toe and had lost some of your balance).

-- Laughter counts for a lot.

-- Life ain't fair.

-- And don't do something so stupid it'll ruin the rest of your life.

- Michelle Sullivan Langdale, Edmonds

When I got married a year ago, you paid for everything out of your retirement fund. On my wedding day, you came to the salon with me and the whole family to get our hair done and took pictures the whole time. I will always remember that day as being the happiest of my life, because I was marrying my true love, but it was also bittersweet because I was leaving your care. You knew exactly what to say when you told me that I could not have chosen a better guy to marry. Now you have another son who loves you. Whenever we face a dilemma, he asks me, "What would your dad do?" When I follow your example, I always choose the way that puts more love in the world - as you have always.

- Kristyn Ideker, Seattle

You didn't come into our lives until I was about 5 or 6, and you certainly weren't looking to get involved with a divorced woman with a kid. But as you got to know us, you fell in love with us. Mom asked me who I thought she should marry as there were others who were vying for her attention. I knew immediately who I wanted. I chose you, and almost 40 years later, I still know I made the best choice. (Fortunately, Mom listened!)

- Leslie DiMaio, Kirkland

My dad tried to teach his three unruly children the fine art of eating soup in a fancy restaurant in Switzerland. The soup arrived, a bowl for each of us; now, pay attention! Dad took up his soup spoon, dipped his spoon into the soup and began to glide the spoon away from himself through the soup. What he didn't notice were his sunglasses gliding through the soup with his spoon. He proudly lifted that spoon to his mouth, and his sunglasses deposited soup down the rest of him. We all laughed loudly, even Dad.

- Cheryl Harkey Gard

Thinking back, there was one evening that shattered my sterile facade. We were having dinner (fighting), and as I got up to wash my dishes, you asked me this: Jill, what would you do if I died tomorrow? If there's one thing a parent can say to make a child feel genuinely ungrateful, that's it. And I needed it. I never told you how I took those words to bed with me and implanted them in my mind. I just didn't have the courage to invite you into my bubble.

Now, I'm going to graduate from college in a year, with a degree in biology and aspirations to go to medical school. I've come to terms with my abnormal high school years, and especially with how much pain I caused you and Mom. If there's anything I can say that I would not have changed about growing up, it is your persistence on keeping me focused in school. Many people fail to realize how easy it would be to slack off. The only way I was able to attend an out-of-state school is because of all that traveling and money-making you do.

Mom says to put the past away and concentrate on the now. I am trying my best. I thank you very much for not giving up on me.

- Jill Antoinette Crank, Seattle

I've learned my best lessons in life from my dad and my mom, and I try to pass them on to my children.

My dad considers it a blessing to do dishes.

My mom, my children and I are still in training on that one.

- Anne Wetmore, Seattle

I went to buy you a Father's Day card, but they all say things like, "Thanks for always being there for me" or "Thanks for being the best dad in the world." None of the cards seemed appropriate; after all, by your own admission, you weren't really there while I was growing up. Oh, yes, after Mom died, you stayed with us. But there were nights when we'd wait up for you, dinner getting cold on the stove, and you'd never come home. In the morning we'd see you stumbling in the door, sometimes with a black eye. I was angry at you for a while. Years later I was able to work through that anger and hear you making your amends. The drinking years were over and you were in recovery. You had many regrets and lots of pain. And that's when you taught me the greatest lesson a father can teach a child: forgiveness.

So thank you, dearest father of mine, for being human, for taking responsibility for your mistakes, for making your amends and for loving me all the way through that process. You are a magnificent man at age 68 - kind, compassionate, humorous, sensitive, strong and very, very wise. Thank you for who you are in my life and in the world.

- Anne E. Allen, Woodinville

In November 1958, Dad ordered a watch for me from a mail-order catalog. My mom wanted to save it until Christmas. But Dad decided to give it to me right away. Maybe he knew something we didn't. In late November he collapsed, and I held him in my arms while Mom and my brother and sister prayed in the next room. He died Dec. 8, and I had my "early Christmas" watch on my arm. This taught me to live for today; there may not be tomorrow or a next holiday to celebrate.

- Donna Bloom, Edmonds

With another D-Day anniversary just complete, I'm reminded of your life during World War II. About how you tried to enlist, but because you suffered a broken arm while squirrel hunting as a boy in Idaho, you were not able to extend your left arm enough to hold an M-1 rifle to Army standards, and you were turned away.

You turned instead to raising a family and serving the war effort as a civilian here in Seattle.

You always lamented not being able to fight for your country. But the way I look at it, you are a devoted husband, you raised a fine family, you provided jobs for hundreds of people and you have lived a long, proud life.

There are plenty of ways to serve your country, and I wonder: How could you have served it any better?

- Bob Branom, Seattle

It was your passion for food, particularly Chinese food, that brings back fond memories. You had this knack for discovering hidden little eateries tucked away in an alley or narrow side street. It was here, in these little nondescript places, where we sampled some of the tastiest cuisine. "Try it, you'll like it!" became your mantra at every place we ate. You were right most of the time.

- Lisa Watanabe, Newscastle

One of the things I'll never forget from my teen years was you standing in line at the White Front store to purchase the first copies of the Beatles' "White Album" for me and my friends - we were absolutely desperate and despondent that we would be stuck in school when this monumental release was to occur. There weren't many parents who actually appreciated the importance we attached to that event. Your gesture meant a lot to me then, and has grown in importance ever since.

- Genie Benson, Redmond

My mother passed away recently after a short but extremely difficult illness. My sister, Carol McAlpin, wrote this letter to our dad afterward, but she has not given it to him yet. She was waiting for the right occasion, and I thought, what better time to do so than Father's Day?

- Debra Dutton Michaud, Redmond

How grateful I am that I was able to be with you and Mama during the last weeks of her life.

Mama told me over and over what a good father you were, and how much she appreciated how you cared for us.

She was so happy that you were always "there for her" when she was weak or sick. She was well aware that she stayed as healthy as she did, up to the end, because of you. She told me to be sure to thank you for doing that for her. She regretted having to leave you.

Papa, with every step that you take, please know that you did everything you could up to the last moment. You will always be her knight in shining armor.

And mine.

- Carol McAlpin, Des Moines

Now that I'm the parent of two adopted special-needs children and foster children, I understand just how fortunate I have been and how very lucky my children and the foster children (even for a brief moment) are to have you (Papa) in their lives. They can see a perfect example of what dads are suppose to be like.

- Pam Micek, Snohomish

You and I know the greatest gift you've given me. Almost five years ago, when my kidneys failed, you donated one of yours and saved my life. I remember you saying that since Mom gave birth to me, now it was your turn. Sometimes I actually forget that I was ever sick with kidney disease . . . but that's why you gave that kidney to me, isn't it? So I could live a normal life.

I never know what to say to you anymore on Father's Day. What do you say to someone who sacrificed of himself to give you another chance at life? All I can say is thank you, I love you, and I will never forget what you did for me.

- Suzanna Moran, Mill Creek

I think you know how much your support has meant to me over the last year and a half as I battled breast cancer. There were so many times that I would wake up and see you at the foot of my hospital bed. I cannot imagine what it must be like to see a daughter fight cancer.

I have learned through you just what it takes to be a caregiver and a supporter. And as you now fight your own cancer, you know that I will be there for you whenever you need me.

- Kathleen Guest, Seattle

My dad is very important because he let me go to camp. My dad helped my mom on the garage sale and earned a lot of money for camp and ferry expenses. After the camp, my dad gave me a hard time. When he told me to clean up in the garage, I was so mad. I went to the garage and looked, but there was no mess. I was so puzzled. Then I noticed the brand new bicycle. I ran to hug him and say thank you (because two old bikes are no longer fitting me; I grew too fast!).

- Tara J. Thorpe (8), Seattle

It's taken me a long time to go through your things. It took 86 years for you to acquire them; I couldn't dispose of them all at once. The letters surprised me. You wrote letters only at Christmas, and I was 25 before you wrote one to me. But it seems you saved every letter anyone wrote to you.

You received a steady stream of letters from those you left behind in Norway. A chain of letters from 1926 to 1996 kept you connected to the land of your birth, while you lived in the land of your choice.

I don't know what they say, except they all start: Dear or Dearest son, brother, uncle, sweetheart, friend. I recognize only a few of the names. I know they shared their lives with you and held you close with their words all those years.

They form a fragile lifeline to a man we all loved, a man I will miss for the rest of my life.

- Heidi Clarke, Burien

Being a great father isn't about becoming a millionaire, reaching stardom or having royal lineage. Fatherhood is perhaps the most risky and complicated job that one can accept. Thanks for caring unconditionally even when the going got rough. Thanks for the unending hours you have strived to help me find the words to the song in my heart, and for patiently reminding me of them when I forgot.

- Kathy Coyne, Mill Cree.