My father worked at the same job for the same school district for 32 years.

I’m on my 8th job in less than half that time. 

My father starts his day at 5 am.

I start blogging at 2 am.

My father is hyper-organized.

I barely made it in time for my own wedding.

In spite of our differences, we are close friends. As we kicked back in front of the TV watching football today, I recognized how much he has influenced my life. He looks for the positive in people and goes out of his way to give others the benefit of the doubt. But the trait I noticed at an early age is the one I’ve tried to emulate the most often: don’t hold grudges.

I’ve make a number of boneheaded decisions over the years. Some of them have caught my father’s attention. But he doesn’t dwell on the problem. Like the time I hit a speed bump that cracked the windshield of his new car. Or the time I borrowed his ten-speed without permission that was stolen when I forgot to lock it while I played pool.

I wish my father lived closer so I could spend more time with him.

I coax him to Seattle by telling him our kids miss him. And they do.

But the truth is I miss him just as much.