Dad 
Man I miss you. I wish I could call you and meet you at the pocket. It wouldn’t matter if we caught anything or not. I’d be happy to sit in the car and watch the rain hammer the Gulf of Mexico. I understand it’s doing that as we speak. 
How many times did we watch that rain in the wee hours of the morning? The lightning letting us glimpse the riot of surf we longed to fish in. The open back end of the wagon, occupied by our aluminum row boat, made certain we heard all of God’s message. We certainly couldn’t hear each other. The love in that car didn’t need words to be felt anyway. 
Loud noises have always scared me. Fireworks made me cry and I still jump when a bolt of lightning forewarns of the imminent crash of thunder. Somehow, the thunder never bothered me when I was with you. Fear melted away and turned into music. 
We rode out many storms in the middle of the gulf, huddling on the jetty. You always reminded us there was no use running from them. We’d get in more trouble if we ran. We laughed as our fishing line started to float ominously on its own and our hair stood on end. Momma just told us not to tell her those stories….
You taught us so much about life in your very solid way. Taught me much about handling fear through the shear understanding that you could get hurt worse running from it. You learned these lessons because you were dealt a hand that gave you no other options. We leaned because you were there to guide us. By the way, you never claimed you weren’t afraid, you just wouldn’t let fear stop you. 
Daddy, you made mistakes and dealt with the consequences by making the next best decision you knew how. You loved us without condition. Stuck by us at our lowest points and shrugged off the credit others gave you when we succeeded. Your advice was always available, but you knew it was only a suggestion. Not a man to do what others told him often, you understood that people make their own choices. If our decisions worked out poorly, which they often did, you helped us pick up the pieces. You had Faith that everything would work out no matter what. One of your biggest gifts was your understanding of individuality. That said, you gave us the tools to understand that conscientious individuality is key.  
You gave so much. Your smile, your laugh and the ability to laugh at yourself. Your comfort, your wisdom, your counsel. Your creativity and your LOVE. 
By actions and words, you taught me that we are all fallible. You were my definition of “perfect imperfection”.
I am so blessed to have had 44 years with you. And so happy for all the memories. I’m just down here living. Making a few mistakes and dealing with what’s next. Creating memories and experiencing as much life as I can. Opening up the doors to see who comes in and laughing when it rains. Drop me a line now and then brother, or at least put my lure in the vicinity of a big fish with a little gust of wind. 
Thank you for everything Daddy. You did the best you knew how and it was pretty damn good if you ask me. I love you so much, I miss your earthly presence everyday, but make no mistake you are with me every step I take. Happy Father’s Day just a couple days early. 
Love

William 
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