Dad

Old Wildcat always told me life isn't fair. That was his way of letting me know things sometimes wouldn't work out how I wanted, that it wouldn't be my fault necessarily, just the way of the world. But that never meant to stop trying, or stop learning, just that whining didn't help. I watched him find his own answers, put on a suit and tie and go to work every day, piling up the awards, becoming a legal legend. Wet birds don't fly at night, he'd say. Or, look it up! He must have known someday a shy little girl would let go of his leg, come out from hiding behind him and stand tall next to him while he watched as I took those lessons and created my own strong branch on the family tree, earned some degrees, built a company, all while sprinkling in the Three Day Weekend teachings he very much believed in and lived every day: world travel, art, music, theater and a good walk are just as important as hard work. Not a bad way to spend eighty-one years, Dad.

Not bad at all.

Obituary