My father was not like most other guys. He was not a flashy man, and he made sure that his family did not go without. But he also was adventurous and for years drove a race car. When I was a little girl, he would take me out to the shop and have me help him change the oil, even if I was in a pretty Easter dress. He knew the importance of teaching all his children how to be independent, and he provided us with skills that we use to this day.
By the time we arrived in Boulder, in 1995, he had already had a full life. He served his country as a member of the National Guard and helped clean up after Mt. Saint Helens blew. He met my mother, Tina, the one and only love of his life, by chance in 1980 at a courthouse. They had three children — and even though they had their ups and downs, as with any relationship, he made sure to clean up his act for his family, as they were the sole purpose of his life.
His children and grandchildren were, in fact, his pride and joy. He enjoyed spending summers with his grandchildren, and he taught them how to be caring and affectionate individuals. He was proudest of the fact that all his children grew to be accomplished adults. He always said that he was proud that we were able to make the best of this life and believed that each of us were able to do and be anything we wanted to.
