Where do I start? As I sit here with Kayla, my dads scrawny, skittish, ugly cat, on my lap. I try to think of one story or anecdote that would describe what my father meant to me. I can’t do it. No it’s not the tears that well up in my eyes. It’s not the empty pit in my stomach. It is just that one memory is not enough. I sit here thinking of all the fun and memorable times we had together and I realize now how much I took him for granted. I never realized how much I would miss him because he was always there for me. I was taping a room (yes the one over the garage) when my daughter starts with the what and why are you doing that questions. I start to give halfhearted answers and try not to lose my patience when it dawns on me that I know how to do this because my dad taught me. Then I start to think of all the things we did together and realize there was a life lesson in each memory that I never noticed when he was here. I can drive a boat, fix a car, paint a house, catch some blue shell crabs, dig for clams, snake a drain, grow some food, stack firewood, rotisserize some chickens and then make soup. But dad the best lesson you taught me is that is only impossible if you don’t try. Thanks for sharing 45 years with me. Wayne