A note to Pop.

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What can a man say to his father in thanks, when words can’t grasp the scope of gratitude owed?

How can a son express the value of having a father that is a paragon of morality and responsibility?

Who else could have excelled simultaneously as a professional, a provider, and as a nurturer of three little shits?

Where does the spring of a man’s torrential happiness and developing fulfillment begin, if not in hard-earned lessons from his father?

When will come the time when, just once, a man can hope to see the world with as much ambition, clarity, and understanding as the man that raised him?

Why, in any pursuit or decision, does the voice inside my head telling me to go for it, to do the right thing and do it to completion, sound so much like yours?

I’m not sure I could ever detail the debt I owe you for providing me with self-respect, an open mind to anyone I meet, an inquisitive perspective on the world, and (while it may have taken a while) a sincere work ethic.

As much as I always wanted to be exactly like you, you always insisted I just be myself. I can’t imagine a greater gift from a more worthy role model.

Thanks Dad.

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