Today is my father’s 83rd birthday. He retired from the Army in 1986 and continued to have a second career in emergency management retiring from that just weeks after 9/11. After catching up on years of lost sleep, dad began writing his memoirs. He wrote on and off for eighteen years. There were long lulls when life got too crazy and computer crashes that tested his dedication to the project. The memoir reads like a series of short stories – 57 to be precise – chapters document the milestones and highlights of his life.

Last August, Dad and I embarked on a journey of compiling his Word documents and pictures into some semblance of order so we could publish it for family and friends. I can’t even begin to estimate how many hours we spent together pouring over his work — searching for lost stories, photos, swapping photos, rewriting, rearranging. We edited and edited more and sometimes changed things back the way they were before. We debated, argued, and sometimes compromised on this monster.

Three significant rounds of revisions of 521 pages got us to a point where we grudgingly felt comfortable going to print. I laid the book out, managed the photos, and helped with edits. Every sticky in the above photo represents a needed edit in the second round of revisions.

On Friday, the 30 copies of the book arrived at Dad’s house. My heart was in my throat as I waited for my copy to arrive, hoping and praying that I did it justice.

This project has truly been a labor of love. More valuable than the book itself is the time I spent with Dad on this project.

Dad, thank you for trusting me with this project; it’s been an honor. And I don’t want to hear about any mistakes that you (or Bob!) may find.

Happy Birthday!