I owe a lot to my dad.
For starters, he gave me those good lookin' Fox genes (Noah loves to remind me that I used to be a Fox. That joke never gets old. . .)
My dad gave me a love for the outdoors. I can remember just about every time he'd get home from work we'd go on a bike ride or go rolerblading. Over weekends, I remember camping, white water rafting, water skiing, snow skiing, and attempted tennis playing. As a single working dad, he really tried hard to ensure I had fun when I visited him.
I've always known my dad loved me, even though as a teenager we didn't always see eye to eye.
My dad saved my life when I was six years old: during a visit to my grandma's pool, my older cousin, Rachel, was doing inward dives (where you stand with your back facing the water and dive forward head first) and I thought I'd give it a try. Without going into detail my dad was given insight that I was about to do something very dangerous and was able to reach me just before my head slammed into the ground (I failed to jump back so basically I was doing a nose dive into concrete). I remember the force of his hands pushing my body into the pool and being mad at him because it hurt. He's never let me forget the details of what happened and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are forces outside of myself that have kept me alive, or at the very least walking.
A bit of irony: in highschool I was a diver and mastered that @#$& inward dive.
My dad is a great grandpa and my kids absolutely adore him, calling him "Grandpa Choo Choo" in honor of his modle train collection.
Dad: thank you for helping bring me into the world, for saving my life, for sponsoring my snowboarding days, for attending nearly all of my gymnastics and diving competitions (even if it meant you had to drive 6 hours to be there), and for letting me marry Noah.
Happy father's day, I love you.