Last week I buried my dad, Bruce, affectionately called “Big Daddy”. While my real dad has always been absent and more concerned about other people’s kids, Bruce stepped up in 1990 and decided that he would raise Desty and me as his own. He taught me to hunt, fish, drive, how to have a good work ethic and the importance of valuing my family more than anything else. When I was a teenager, he forced me to go to church and I hated it but ultimately led to my faith in Christ, which is now my ultimate hope. He had such amazing patience.

Big Daddy stood with me when I had those weird teenage ideas. Dad, I want to build and fly an R/C airplane, I want to ___. Dad, I want to become an amateur radio operator, he supported me there also, and I am still going strong in it.

He may not have been my dad in blood, but he was in everything else. I would not be the person I am today without him and his leadership and guidance. If I could account for even half the person and father he was, I could be happy with life. The hole in my heart will heal, but the scares will remain, reminding me of who he was, and who I have become because of him.