Posted with full confidence that the Father in question will never read this.
You cared for us when Mother was in the hospital for weeks after mine and my brothers birth.
She really shouldn't have carried children, though I'm selfishly glad she did.
You made sure we were fed, clean, warm, loved.
You came home with a big box of books when I was 4-5 years old, and built a bookcase for them.
Though Louie L'Amour, and Max Brand were your staples, you wished me to learn and enjoy reading.
You taught me to work toward what I wanted in this world. That nobody owed me anything.
If they actually did, it would be a cold day in Hell before they paid off.
(I found out by myself that any kind of charity solicitation is harder than just working for wages.)
When the woman I love died an untimely death, you opened your home to the child that she left behind.
You have your faults, but you are my Father.
I love you for what you are and what you mean to me.
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