1. Always having to say goodnight and give him a hug--even if I was a grow-up with kids of my own and just visiting.
2. The strong silent--seemingly unemotional--demeanor, unless I looked closer and saw the tears well up in his eyes. This was especially true when he thought/spoke of grand kids.
3. The unconditional support--whether I was dancing, in colorguard, going back to school, or running, he was there. He watched hours of dance reviews, marching band competitions, he oversaw homework sessions with Mom, and he even mapped out running routes (making sure to tell me where every hill would be and the best strategy for conquering them). He was never interested in these things until I became interested in them--then he made himself an avid fan.
4. The howling laughter of my kids as he was tickling/torturing them. The reference to "Grandpa Tickle".
5. The warm, heavy hand on mine in Sacrament Meeting or riding in the car, or walking down the street.
6. H@ll, D#mn, Sh$t, as normal everyday language. Not cuss words. Just verbage. I knew I was in trouble when he DIDN'T swear.
7. The look in my children's eyes when I told them we were going to Gramps' house.
8. Reassuring my kids that indeed cows are cows and horses are horses--that it does not matter that cowboys ride horses--they are still not cows, no matter what Gramps told them.
9. The missing corner from my baked goods before they were served. (He had to make sure they were not poisonous.)
10. The ability to wish him a Happy Birthday with a crazy card referencing his advanced age then to see him laugh, that silent deep laugh that would bring tears to his eyes. Then later find these same stupid cards tucked away in his sock drawer.
Today is my Dad's birthday. He is still very missed here.
