Happy Birthday, Papa

Hey Papa,
I still think about you sometimes. I wonder how you would view the world. I don't linger there, because I'm afraid we would disagree on a lot (as we always did).

But I what I really like to do most, is imagine you meeting Charlie. The leather squeaking on that old recliner as you leaned forward with arms outstretched, beckoning her to come running into your arms. Her laughing as you picked her up and tickled her.

Every time I bounce her on my knee, I think of you, bouncing me on yours.

I wish we could hop in your truck, grab some Pepsis, and fish off the pier, idly chatting about nothing before you came around to a serious moment and telling me how proud you are of me and how much you love Charlie. To be honest, you'd probably also get somber and tell me to "take care of both of those girls, ya hear?" and I would assure you I was and I would.

I know that you would want to let Charlie ride on your lap on that little tractor of yours, and we'd probably get talked into letting her. And she would love it, and you would be grinning, and we'd have this super cute photo of it, and you would make a joke about starting an "instagram or whatever nonsense you're into"

Anyway, I love you Papa. and I miss you. And though she doesn't even know it, Charlie does too.

The other day an older gentleman invited me to a "sing" and it made me think of you. You loved going to that one of those every time they had one.

I think you're probably enjoying a pretty good Birthday sing right now, Papa.

Love, Drew