Here is the blog I wrote last year for my dad. I’ve only grown more like him in the last year, I still miss getting to see him as often, and the sentiment I wrote a year ago still applies.
This is the first Father’s Day I’m not spending with my dad.
I was thinking a lot about my dad this week. And though I am still very happily in the “honeymoon” stage of my life in Chicago and I’m living out my silly dreams or whatever, I do miss him, and I miss having him so close by.
Rumor has it that my dad named me after Ty Cobb, and that my name was originally supposed be Tyrus (as in Tyrus Raymond Cobb). But because supposedly the idea caused my aunt to “cuss him out,” I was birthed and then christened just as Tyler Ray Snodgrass. And maybe because my name was not that of the legendary baseball player, I never achieved my destiny as baseball’s next young star. Also, unlike Ty Cobb, I never achieved my status as an alleged racist.
But for my dad, I…
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