Dads, the Better Late Than Never Version

My dad and his brother Eric in their youth, must be about

1872 or something.

Dad and me, and grandma either behind or reflection, 1981

My dad taught me about art and camping and fishing.

He took me to theater in the park, shopping for books, climbing on

boulders and fishing in rivers. He took us sledding and skiing and made

elaborate, scaled and clawed Chinese snow dragons when

other kids just had snow men and carrot sticks. He's an artist and

a writer and his memory has got to be borderline

photographic. Never play against him

in Trivial Pursuit.

Bradford Erickson, Great American Trout Series, oil on canvas

My cousin Sarah and her dad, my uncle Eric, who we lost 

in 1991. I know he had a great sense of 

humor and one of those great
big personalities. Being around him 
was always a good time. 

My dad's dad, Grandpa Erickson, who was

on ski patrol and kept horses and always

wanted us to watch a John Wayne or The

Unsinkable Molly Brown. 

My mom's dad, Richard, who I never knew but didn't

he just have smiling eyes? Also may have

been connected to the mob, look, we'll never know.

My girls and their daddy, who 

teaches them about wrestling

and reads them fantasy stories

and shares Ayla's love

for strange and creepy things.

 We hike mountains

in flip flops here, because why not?

Love all you awesome dads.