For teaching me how to fish. And letting me take one last cast.

For catching. And releasing. For teaching me about conservation and delaying gratification. 

For letting me borrow the boat, knowing I’ll return it later than I said I would.

For playing catch with me in the backyard. For being my coach. For taking the patented Cory Slurve in the kneecap dozens of times. 

For teaching me about sacrifice. For giving all you could to a thankless job. And giving us what you could with what you had.

For keeping a roof over our heads and food in the fridge. And for whatever extra you could afford.

For teaching me blue-collar ethics: to value what you have and the people who value who you are. To not give up.

For not giving up on me. 

For the beer and cigarettes I stole when I was younger. And for the punishment when you found out.

For being hard when everybody else was soft. For showing me life without blinders.

For being kind, also, despite not being treated the same by others.

For not being afraid to speak your mind. (Though, you don’t always need to say the quiet part out loud.)

For sticking up for me when I was suspended from school. For not kicking me out when I was arrested.

For not trusting the police when they claimed I broke those windows at that school—for believing I was telling the truth.

For treating my friends like family, even when we caused shit together. For letting us cause shit together, because some things are meant to be learned the hard way.

For building the cottage the year I was born. For the decades of joy it brought our family.

For selling it when the ghosts became too much to bear. And for still being here by doing so.

For the groceries when I was in college. For helping out when I was in a tight spot, even if it was my own fault.

For paying off my credit card debt in my 20s. For not expecting anything in return.

For the guidance. For the trust. For the faith that I’d get my shit together. (Took me long enough, I know.) 

For being there for Mom during her final days. For making the choices nobody else could, doing what you thought was best. For doing what she wanted. 

For the conversations. For the arguments. For the good times and the bad.

For then, now, and for what’s to come.

For everything.

For being my dad.

I wrote this for you to tell you thank you. 

To say I love you. 

Because it’s easier this way.

And I want to say it while I still can.