This is a thread about the love for a father. My father will be 77 this year. For the past 28 years, I've had to live 1756 miles from him. Our visits over that time have ben probably 14 to 16 total. I've always felt that I've missed out on a great portion of my life, as well as his, considering the distance between us.
My father has had a tradition dating back to when I was still in diapers...a walleye fishing trip in early June with whomever wanted to go, in Northern Minnesota. Over the years, one by one, all of Dad's fishing buddies have passed away, until his last best friend died this past fall ('06)
In June this year, I'll be flyiing out to Minn and joining him for his annual migration North. The fishing isn't quite as good these days, but the company of a father is like no other. You really learn to appreciate every moment spent with them like its your last when you live so far away.
I suspect my father is ill, but he's not saying anything to anyone. He doesn't like doctors and has been very stubborn on going to the doctor in his lifetime (I used to have to badger him for MONTHS to get his medical updated so we could go flying)
On that note, if you Dad is still living today, call him and tell him you love him.
Here is a photo that was a complete mess, torn, tattered, color almost faded to black and white. I restored this photo on the PC after scanning it. It depicts in my mind, an American pasttime: father and son enjoying a camping trip. This was taken in Northern Minnesota during one of his annual migrations in the late 60's.

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