Dear Dad,

Another dream.

During my Sunday afternoon nap.

I dreamt I was walking into the airport. And there you were.

You let me hold your hand.

It was so real I felt the callouses. And the scar on your ring finger. And the scar on your pointer finger from where the baler latch closed on it because I wasn't paying attention.

Such nice hands.

I woke up thinking of that song, Daddy's Hands by Holly Dunn.

I think that song is about you.

Except for the part about your hands being "hard as steel when I'd done wrong".

Because I only ever remember you spanking me once.

Maybe you didn't spank me more because I was child numero six and you were too tired by then.

I tried to never do wrong because one of my biggest fears was disappointing you.

Or, I guess I should say I never did wrong except when Carolyn and I would fight - which, until we were eleven or twelve, was a lot. And you would look at us and say, "Girls, girls." And we would stop.

Oh, and also I used to cheat at Candyland. And the game of LIFE.

Right before she passed away, Carolyn wrote on the back of a big white envelope, "Erin and I are best friends. Although looking back, I don't know why. She cheated at every game we ever played."

Anyway...

I was always so proud you were my dad.

Remember the Christmas break WHS basketball practices you used to drive us to? And the daddy/daughter game there was every year?

You would show up to play in your BYU blue and white tiger print shorts. All the other dads had to sub out every 1.5 minutes. But not you. You played the whole game. Although you did check to make sure you weren't stiffing anyone of desired playing time. You weren't.

After those games (and every basketball game I ever played in), I sat by you on the bleachers and sometimes held your hand. So that everyone would know you were my dad. And also hoping some of your skills would rub off on me.

I hope they let you and Carolyn play basketball in Heaven.

Wish you were still here to hold my hand.

Love,

Erin