Mahalo Seabreeze from all the dads! My own father died in 1954 (in a small airplane crash). I was 8 at the time. 62 years later, I still miss him and muse about what might have been. I'm sure I'll get a phone call from my son tomorrow.
My Dad and I in 1949. I was 4 years old. He was always there for me and we were very close. When he was home we were inseparable. I remember the day this photo was taken, he was hauling dirt and every time he dumped a load I climbed in. He never complained just kept hauling me back all day long. He passed away in 1998. One of the worst days of my life.