Some people call him speed god, some people call him Ron, most people call him a good friend, and I am the luckiest, because I get to call him dad. My father is the best human. He never complains that I can’t get my fish off the hook as a grown up, and so he has to do it and in the end, I end up catching way more fish than him because he has to help me the whole time. He always keeps me up to date with coyote hunting when I can’t be riding with him. He never lets my car get dangerous. He taught me how to play guitar, and how to appreciate music.
It is from this hero, that I get my love for local history and old stuff, my love for outlaw music, my love for guitars, my appreciation of classic cars, my love of western comedies, my secret dream of being a high school rodeo queen (I missed that one due to my tiny fear of horses that has since mostly dissipated), my love for grilled cheese and Red Baron. While I’m not much of a drinker at this point and time in my life, if I were to be, I would thank my father for my preference being cheap beer.
This summer in Chicago, he was my date to my cousin’s wedding in Chicago, and I truly believe I will never enjoy a wedding like I did that one ever again. My dad isn’t a fan of traveling, so most of the time we’re just at home, but going some place new with him is always my favorite because he has quirps, and bits of history to share the whole way. He understands me, helps me, and makes every experience a million times better, every time.
This is my indirect thank you to the best father on the planet. He’s my hero, and I’m so lucky to have him. I love him more than life itself, and you all better recognize.