I've called you several names in my life...Daddy. Dad. Padre. I don't think I've ever called you, "Father" except by reference. I can't recall a time when I called you anything but a term of endearment.
I've watched you make good choices as well as some bad ones. I've watched you love fiercely and grieve just as much. I've always been proud to call you my dad (except for that time you wore my hot pink sweatshirt with your kelly green sweatpants). People are drawn to you (...most people, that is, there are a few who don't understand you or who bring out your orneriness). Kids especially. I think they recognize in you a kindred spirit...someone who loves life and will love them no matter what. I'm never surprised to find that you took kids belonging to a single mom to do something like rock climbing. If you can't have one of your own grandkids with you...you adopt one. You are your own ministry. The things that make you tick are many of the things that speak life into others.
My whole life people told me I look like mom. I've never really seen it, except in mannerisms and some things I say. :) I think I look like you. I'm proud to. Do you still have the letter I wrote to you on the Father's Day right after my high school graduation? You were/are my first love. My "hampson" man.
One name I have always called you and always will...mine.