Nothing like Daddy's French Toast

(notice the painting. it's one of his.)

My dad is my biggest hero. (Well truthfully him and my mom often duke it out.) My father has been through so much more than anyone else I know. Yet I know that he would do anything for me.

Really,

ANYTHING.

My daddy has a nasty bugger of a disease, and a myriad of other health problems plopped on top of that. I feel that when most people look at my dad they don't see him. All they see is disease. Not my Papi. My Papi is not a disease. If they would just take a closer look here is what they would see:

A man who loves and is dedicated to his family.

An INCREDIBLE artist who has the talent to see beauty in everything and capture that beauty through paint, pencil, and lens.

A gourmet chef who's French toast and cinnamon tortillas have no rivals. (Both of these delicacies are often only consumed at my house between the hours of 11:00pm and 1:00am. This is usually the time daddy begins craving them.)

A teacher/historian who always pours out his wealth of knowledge through some personal story.

A comedic mumbler. The most hilarious things he says often come out of his mouth barely audible. The diligent listener will always be rewarded with a belly full of mirth and questioning stares from those who worry for their sanity.

A dog lover

A coke addict

A technical nerd

A romantic language enthusiast

A lover of Monty Python and other "dumb humor" as my mom calls it

A husband. A father. An Uncle. A Brother. A Grandpa. My daddy.

Anyone who know's this man is lucky. I'm blessed to always have him in my life.