Saturday night.

I can see my dad from where I sit.  He's worked his ten millionth 14-hour day today and now he's snoring away in his favorite chair.  I hope he takes a slightly easy tomorrow considering the occasion... not likely but I hope.

I've seen Dad age in the past few years.  When I graduated from high school he was forty... his face was remarkably unlined and his hair free of any gray.... he was mistaken for my brother on more than one occasion (much to my chagrin!).  Now... seven years later, he has changed.  His dark hair is now at least half gray... wrinkles and crows feet are etched permanently on his face instead of just when he smiles... something he hasn't done much of lately.

Running a large business takes up all of his free time.  He's working more than ever because of a recent acquisition of a smaller business.  His mother is dreadfully ill with something that has yet to be pinpointed.  His wayward oldest child has returned to the fold and brought chaos along.  His second daughter is contemplating annulling a month old marriage.

My dad.  Everybody's rock.  He counsels me (the wayward daughter) and consoles my younger sisters, supports his parents, and keeps the peace between his siblings.  All the while... through it ALL... he is wildly successful... beyond anything he dreamed of as a dyslexic, troubled schoolboy.  The one teachers said would never amount to anything.  They couldn't have ever been more wrong.

Our Papa Mike is the greatest.  Happy Father's Day to one fucking awesome dad.