There's Hope For Todayਨਮੂਨਾ

Dad took time to spend with me in a leaky boat or tramping up an icy trout stream, and that made all the difference. I usually fell asleep on the drive up country and then again on the way back. I snarled my line, hooked my finger, and complained about the bugs. I dropped my pole over the side and dumped the worm can a few times. I can’t remember having any deep conversations as we waited for the fish to bite. These moments weren’t scripted – they were lived. I was spending time with the hero of my life, and he seemed to want to be there. That was enough.

Dad and I didn’t share a team sport heritage like some. We just enjoyed being together; we still do. I’m past forty now and he’s seventy. We get together every year for four days alone. Now he falls asleep while I drive and the conversations have gone a little bit deeper, but the greatest gift my dad ever gave me keeps on giving.

Dad gave me his love, his life, and his time. Should I never earn another dollar, I am a rich, rich, man.