An Open Letter to My Dad

Ok Dad, we both know this is going to make you cry, so go ahead and grab some tissues before you continue...

Got 'em?

Dad/Chuckie/Chuckles,

I have spent years trying to piece together a letter to you, but when it comes down to it, I just want to pick up a ball and our gloves and head outside. It was a staple of my childhood.

Actually, you are the staple of my childhood. From countless field trips to Thursday lunches (that chili and cinnamon roll was ridiculously good, right??). Hours on the couch watching the Mariners, and several more freezing our toes off in Pullman (Go Cougs!).

I love my mom, but I don't think it would surprise anyone to hear that I'm a Daddy's Girl. I can hang with the best of 'em talking baseball and dropping random stats (even erroneous ones like "70% of lead off walks score").

You've shown me how to work hard for what I want. You helped raise me to think for myself and focus on the present. You also taught me important life lessons, such as, how to properly place a needle on a vinyl record. And, a skill that certainly came in handy during college: how to shotgun a beer.

You taught me how to play ball. Not just the mechanics, but what the game really means. How to plan ahead for situations that might come up, and how to manage under pressure.

I remember the first time I was able to throw diagonally across the lawn. It arced...and I received a lesson on the shortest distance from A to B was a straight line. I think there were diagrams in the grass. But that's what I love about you. I speak logic, too. And I appreciate the lessons that I probably complained about in my youth. They're always here with me, and I have to smile when I catch myself passing them on to my students.

So, Dad, here we are on your 65th birthday. You once told me you wished you had drank more beer with your dad while he was still around. I don't think we will ever have that regret. Bottoms up, Chuck. (Haha, get it? Up Chuck?)

Love you always,

Your daughter

95 Years Young!

My Grandpa Bob turned 95 this weekend! I met him when he was a mere 81 years old. I had flown down over spring break and went to meet the new step-family. Grandpa Bob sat in the living room talking about Cessna's, Piper's, and other airplane and flight stuff. I was enthralled.

Joseph, Daddy, Robert DuFresne, 1924

I got to learn a lot about Grandpa Bob's life in just one afternoon. Over the past 14 years, the stories have rolled in (most, lovingly told by Grandma Lee, sometimes more than once!). Some of the best are the tales of camping and water skiing on Lake Trinity, years working for Pacific Telephone, and his flying days.

Grandpa Bob and Grandma Lee singing together on Christmas Eve, 2016

After Pearl Harbor, Grandpa Bob (like many others) joined the US Navy. He was given the job of Forward Observer, where he was dropped at an island (sometimes alone), dug a foxhole, and watched the ship movements offshore.

Robert DuFresne, US Navy, 1942

My favorite story comes from Grandpa Bob's childhood days. His family relocated to Los Angeles from Marion, Ohio. They drove across the United States in a Model T Ford. Without a place to do laundry in Yellowstone National Park, Grandpa Bob's britches were cleansed in the power wash known as Old Faithful.

Robert and Joseph DuFresne, 1923

A lifetime full of love, Grandpa Bob shows us how to enjoy each day. Happy 95th!

Grandpa Bob holding the youngest great grandchild, 2016