Spent a little time on Saturday morning in the barn on my Mom's property.
Dad was a epic hoarder before anyone knew what that actually was.
There is a ton of scrap there. Tools, old doors, window screens, and buckets of nuts and bolts and screws and drill bits.
Things I have zero use for.
And the barn is showing signs of wear and tear. It's gonna' come down, one way or another.
Everything breaks down eventually.
My brother John found a stack of daily prayer books that Dad had stuffed in one of the drawers.
Mom showed me a letter that was like a text in my marriage these days:
"The ribs are in the oven at 350. Don't touch them. I'll be home to take them out and do the potatoes. Just getting cigs. Will be back soon."
He signed it "Love, Fuzzy."
Finally, attached to the wall was the drivers license of my buddy, Chris Heinold. I took a photo of it and texted Chris.
"Why is this on the wall in my Dad's barn?" I asked.
"He stole it from me!" Chris texted back. "I swear every time I was over there he made me cry laughing. He was hysterical."
So, I got on the riding mower and thought about Dad as I mowed the lawn on the property that he loved. From the back yard I could take in the full beauty of the home that he built with his Dad, his brother, and his uncles and brother-in-laws and friends.
A colossal effort.
An amazing place to grow up.
"Did you find my gold chain?" Chris texted later.
Dad threatened to fight Chris if he tried to jump in the pool while wearing jewelry.
"He came at me in the boxer's stance. He whacked me in the nuts when I tried to cover my face."
My Dad was a funny guy.
Lived every day hard.
Was proud of his kids.
Showed us what love is.
Taught us about working hard and what respecting people was about, even when we were smacking them in the groin, for fun.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
I mimic all of your best moves with my boys.
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