When we were growing up, my Dad was the best. He’d show up after a week working in Aspen with bunnies or baby chicks (among many others versions of poultry). When you’re seven, there’s no better way to your heart than baby farm animals. He knew what he was doing and hit the nail on the head. He also, once, built us a tree house. If that’s not Father of the Year material, then I just don’t know what is. Happy Father’s Day Dad, I love you!
P.S. Hot pink overalls in the middle of summer? Loud and proud.