Happy Birthday, Dad

By the time you were my age you had been married for a decade and a half, you had 3 kids, & had been at your job at the Shipyard at least as long as you’d been married.  And you were living in your second house. 

1977.  Interesting year.  Elvis died.  That’s about all I really remember.  I was in the third grade–and I am certain, a part of your daily frustration; as if you didn’t have enough of those.

 You put up with a lot just to keep your kids in basketball shoes and Atari; not to mention getting the food to the table and keeping the heat on.

I am still in awe.  I cannot imagine.  Perhaps it’s a certain strength one receives when the title of Dad is bestowed.  Since I am not, nor will I ever be a Dad, I cannot imagine.

You done good, Dad.  Love you.  Happy 69th birthday.

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