When I was nine, we took a three-week road trip out west. We packed everything into our white suburban the night before we left, got our journals ready, and brushed up on our history. Everyone was beyond excited, including our captain, Dad. This was going to be the trip of our lives!
Early in the morning, we climbed into the car. Thad and myself jammed in the very back seat (probably so that mom wouldn’t have me talking in her ear the whole time), and left for the open road. About ten seconds later, Dad ran over our cat.
Dad, I really loved that cat, but I love you more. I love that you’re basically Ron Swanson, but with a manlier laugh and an even greater respect for the Constitution. I also love that you felt so bad about killing Grease Lightning, “Grease” for short. I’m thankful for you and the crazy-great stories you’ve given me. Love you! Happy Father’s Day!