My earliest recollection of spending time with you was at the beach in Florida. It’s not just an image, it’s a feeling. The feeling of running like the dickens down a wooden pier, feet slapping and then…being airborne, sailing out over the water. It didn’t matter that I had no idea how to swim. I didn’t need to. You were standing out in the water to catch me. And you would do this time and time again, no matter how boring it may have been to you, because you knew from my ear-piercing girly squeals that it was the greatest thing since ice cream for me. And I would test you by trying to jump before you were even out in the water, just to see if you’d be there. You always were.
Happy 70th birthday dad. You should’ve played baseball.