Happy birthday to my first born son.

Born Oct 25, 1975 at 3:01pm. 8 pounds 12 ounces, 19 3/4" long. (Funny how you remember those numbers, even after 38 years.)
He inherited my love of music, dance, travel, cooking and adventure. We won’t mention my bad traits he may or may not have inherited.

He climbed to the top of Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes, toured San Francisco, and rode carnival rides with me as a kid when I couldn’t get anyone else to go along for the thrill.

When he was little I taught him to walk, talk, and dance on the tops of my feet. When he got older I taught him to drive a stick shift.

He’s taught me a few things too. He taught me to ride his mini bike, probably a mistake on his part because that meant there was one more person he had to share it with. He taught me to set up my iPone, how to make carne asada, and that I can love him unconditionally.

He’s made me laugh and cry; amazed me with his smarts (brains and smart ass ways); impressed me with his love and devotion for his children and his wife.

Above all else; he’s grown up, accepted responsibility, overcome hurdles, and became a person I’m proud to call my son.