I miss my Daddy

The week after my father died, the preacher at my church, down in North Carolina, his wife told me, "No matter how long, you never get over it."

And she's right. It's been seventeen years this past January since Daddy died, and there's not a day that passes that I don't think about him. Sometimes, it's just like it happened yesterday, like a knife in my heart.

I'm not going to go into paragraphs about how special he was. A whole book wouldn't do him justice. He was nobody, a scientist and a school teacher, a cripple and a poor man. And he was so much more than that.

"He was a man, taken for all in all; I'll not see his like again."

Those of you whose fathers are still alive, whether you love him or hate him or ignore him or worship him, remember: he won't be there forever. Treasure him, flaws and all, because one day he'll be gone, and your chance will have passed forever.