I loved hearing my Dad’s stories when I was little, because he could make an everyday matter into a thrilling adventure with his choice descriptions. And now, I love seeing my nieces and nephews listen with the same rapt attention as he regales them with tales of the escapees from the asylum they lived by, and how his finger was cut off, and Mickey and the rat.
Instead of staying in our small Mennonite world, my Dad moved our family to Honduras before I was born, and I’ll always be grateful that his adventurousness filled my upbringing with a mix of different cultures and languages and many tortillas.
One of his best traits, I think, is his generosity. He lends freely of his resources to help people that need it, and has passed on his love of giving to his sons. He can also make friends with pretty much anyone he meets, in about five minutes flat. Nobody stays a stranger long around my Dad.