He really was good at being a dad. My sister and I were lucky girls. We always had his full attention. He worked hard for our new bikes and trendy shoes. Dad was the one that taught me to cook. The essentials, of course, biscuits and gravy, fried chicken, and cornbread.

He became ill at the young age of fifty-five, forced to retire early, right in the midst of the time we should start actually "living." Just when you think he was improving, his body had different ideas. No matter how he really felt on the pain scale on the wall of the hospital rooms, he'd say at least an 8. He was optimistic with full faith in God. We all knew he was a miracle in the making, on earth for a purpose, and touching many lives.

I pray that God provides a way for all little ones to feel love like this.