My dad was the one who taught me how to drive. Pretty well I might add. He took me out to a secluded area when I was 14 and let me drive his 4Runner. I was so happy to be behind the wheel of the car he loved so much.
My dad was the one who taught me how to camp. Not very well I might add. The first time we camped was in the backyard. We set the tent up and got everything situated right as it was getting dark. We got in the tent, ready to turn in for the night, when the sprinkler system cut on. We had to mad dash to the house and decided just to sleep inside.
The second time that we went camping we went to Sesqui State Park. We were a little more adventurous this time. We set up all of our supplies, and then decided to build a fire to make dinner. We stacked up a pile of firewood and for some reason I wanted to show off. I went to jump over the large pile, but caught my foot on the top piece, and tumbled to the ground. We laughed about that for hours.
My dad was the one who taught me how to fish. There was nothing he enjoyed more than an afternoon on his boat with a cooler full of beer. Whether he caught any fish or not.
My dad was the one who taught me how to use a camera. I am thankful that I inherited his creativity, love of nature, and an eye for the perfect picture. Even when that meant walking through a mosquito infested state park in the South Carolina heat just to take pictures of a snake we found in a ditch.
I will always remember my dad using his steering wheel as a drum set. I will always hear him singing every word of “Mr. Jones and Me” by Counting Crows. And I will always remember his ability to quote lines from every movie he’s ever seen. I love you dad and I will miss you.