a photo tribute to the man

In the eighth grade, I made the Florida State select soccer team, and I had to travel frequently on the weekends for tournaments. One particular weekend, the tourney tragically coincided with the McNair Middle School Valentine's Dance. I wanted to go so badly (I had a crush on some boy, I'm sure). I told dad how brokenhearted I was that I was going to miss the dance. And he drove the two hours up to Jacksonville to pick me up after my frist soccer game, drove me all the way home for the dance, all the way back for my game the next day, and then all the way home again. He is the most kind-hearted and tender man I've ever known. And he would do just about anything for anyone. Doozer the rabbit. That mud-covered redneck who got his truck stuck in the dirt-roads behind our house in CG. Mindori. The fallen-over trees in the BCC parking lot. All of us.

Here's a photo tribute to Papa J:

Dad, the wee baby.

Dad, the cowboy.

Dad, the even cuter cowboy.

Dad, the oldest brother.

Dad, the dashing husband.

Dad, the bearded papa.

Dad, the unbearded papa.

Dad, the middle generation.

Dad, the son.

Dad, the son, again.

Dad, the Floridian.

Dad, the seaman (this was on the ship).

Dad, the pirate.

Dad, the mechanic.

Dad, the ice cream maker.

Dad, the ice cream lover.

Dad, the cook (and Jen, the nerd).

Dad, the proud father.

Dad, the proud father of a beautiful little girl.

Dad, still the father of a beautiful little girl.

Dad, the gardener.

Happy Birthday Dad. We all wish we were on the ship in the middle
of the Pacific to celebrate with you. We love you.