Every country has their own variation of Father's Day, a day to celebrate either being a father or honoring your own father. My memories will fail with time, so I find it important to write about my life and my family who have since left the realm of the living.

My father wasn't a rich man, but he took care of us. He taught me the value of hard work and was wiser than most. He always treated my mother with respect, which was somewhat rare back in the 1700s as women technically were property in those days. He loved this country and could see great things happening in the future. He was a blacksmith. I remember he would always walk in the door, tired and dingy from the day's work. Yet, though he had worked the whole day, he would still have the energy to pull out his fiddle and play. I wish I could find that fiddle. It had been his father's, who had immigrated from Scotland years before my father's birth. I cannot remember very clearly, but my father may have been buried with it. I just know I was never interested in playing the fiddle myself, as I knew I could never play as well as my father. 

My father was my biggest inspiration though, so when I became a father, I named my oldest child, Thomas, after him. I would have been lost becoming a father, had it not been for my own father. 

As I see how everyone honors their fathers today, I also cannot help but feel a little morose. I mean, what else should I feel? I was a father myself after all and I am finding myself missing my children, even after all of these years. 

Note to self: I know after time goes by, you will forget who you were in life and all that will be is who you are in the undead life, but please remember the laughter of your children. Please remember how your son Thomas was the spitting image of yourself and how he was always willing to help anyone. Please remember the rosy cheeks and the golden gentle curls on your daughter Mary and how she resembled the chubby faced angels you see in classic paintings and her voice was just as sweet. Please remember the fighting spirit in little Anne, who was also the spitting image of yourself up until she could no longer fight anymore and remember to live out eternity remembering the words of your father, "If you start to lose yourself, trust in those in your life to help you find yourself." 

Happy father's day. 

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