Fattest Fattest Fat Dad

Dad,
Happy Father's Day. This year is special, because you're a grandfather, but you've always been a grand father. Your mind is brilliant, your creativity is unlimited, but nothing shines brighter than your heart. Your compassion overwhelms me. You could do amazing things with it--heal, inspire, save. But you choose to use it on your children.

Only you would have taken the situation of the past year: "Hey, Dad, guess what, I'm pregnant" and turn it into a way for us to grow closer. You were an amazing father, and an even better grandfather. I see you in lots of things that I do, but you're Howard Roark.

Thanks for loving us.

Daughter # 1.

P.S.
This is the note he wrote me two weeks ago, when asked for a Relief Society activity to explain why I'm an eight cow woman:

Lindsay McCall--
As said 'Father,' to be made an offer from any number of suitors, I withhold the value of this one... For this one is special. This one is dear to my heart. This one sings of wonder; this one paints the stars. This one feels the heart. This one touches the moon. This one is an old soul, wandering aimlessly, and yet, direct as an arrow when questioned. This one grows like green green grass, and now nurtures her own fruit. This one is mystery, and delight, and all things yet to come. How precious, precious she is to me. Tender thy best offer--silks and pearls and cows... only a small part... of the value... of this girl.