For two weeks, we searched for email addresses, sent Facebook messages and passed the word to those who we knew mean a lot to our dad and whose information we were able to obtain without directly asking him. There were some we would have loved to have contacted, but did not know how to get a hold of them short of saying "Hey, Chief. Can you give me the contact info for ______?" Sure, that conversation wouldn't raise flags.
The art of writing a letter is long gone, but for a moment it was revived. Although, penmanship has something to be desired.
Letters began to flood my mail box (I am sure my mail carrier was confused We normally only get bills. All the sudden for two weeks, everyday several pieces of mail were delivered). Everyday was an exciting day.
I got mail!
Except it wasn't for me.
My name was on the outside.
Just not on the inside.
But it wasn't about me, although I must admit I got a lot out of this present. I received the joy of opening all the letters and reading my father's legacy. . .while he is still living.
My dad had a great youth. Friends told stories of high school and college days.
He is remembered as a dedicated member of the synchronized swim team at our local pool.
Most noted was his ability to talk in any situation, at any time, for any amount of time.
His guidance and advice was mentioned time and time again.
The joy of his company and friendship were echoed page after page.
I was so proud.
To top things off, the night was filled with Train Assembly. . .
. . .it was a group effort. And by group, I do not mean me.
Then we called in the pro.
And ta-da!
Brody says "Take that!"
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