March 1, 1928: The day my Dad was born. Today would have been my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 83 years young. He’s been gone for four years now, but I can still hear his voice…I can still hear his footsteps…I can still smell his aftershave…and I can still feel his whiskers on my cheek when he would wake me on Saturday mornings. I know that he’s looking down from above and smiling…proud of his family…proud of all us…his kids, his grandkids and all his nieces and nephews.
This post is dedicated to my Dad…thank you for making me the person that I am today.