Dear Dad …

Dear Dad,

I still can't believe it's been 10 years since I've heard your laugh. Ten years since you told me I was beautiful. Ten years since you played your favorite Frankie record in the living room.

Mom is doing well. She's still beautiful on the inside and out. She still has a ridiculous amount of clothes, and you would love what she's done with the kitchen. There's a new cocker spaniel in the house … Bella is her name. She's cute, but a little naughty at times and would drive you nuts. Oh, and Mom is retired now. She's traveled to Germany, and is even going to Vegas in a few weeks. She is still not afraid of anything. She's kept your collectibles in the basement. All the radios, records and memorabilia that you cherished. You always said, "They'll be worth something someday." I think we'd rather keep them than find out. Thank you for not being afraid to go up to Mom and ask if you could eat lunch with her that one afternoon at the Cozy Kitchen. This past week you would have celebrated your 38th wedding anniversary. I know she misses you everyday. I know she'd give anything to have a cup of tea with you after dinner, just like you used to every night. But, don't worry, she has so many people in her life who love her.

Kimberly, your youngest pride and joy, is living her dream. She's married to a wonderful man, living in Wisconsin and changing lives as a nurse. Even though it's only been a year, they're already looking for a house. And, you can relax … they're huge Packer fans and never miss a game. I'm pretty sure you would have liked watching games with her husband, Dan. He gets nervous just like you used to. They were Superbowl champs last year. I wish you could have seen that game. It was marvelous. You'd be so happy and proud of Kimber. On her wedding day, she was so beautiful. That little girl who used to play board games with you has grown into an amazing woman.

As for me, I guess you could say I'm your wild child. After graduating from college at the University of Wisconsin-Madison (Go Badgers), I became a reporter at a couple of local newspapers, and continued to live in Madison for a few years. I remember how you wouldn't even drive in that city. Whenever I was stuck and frustrated with traffic, I'd think of you.

Then, when I was 26, something told me to move to New York City. I packed some suitcases, found some roommates online and moved to Brooklyn. If you were here, I think you would have chained me to my apartment in Wisconsin … even Mom was worried for me. She still wants me to come back home. But, this city was made for me, even though it can beat you down sometimes and take all your money, I know I could never leave. Mom has even come to visit me a few times. She's become a master of the subway, loved the Statue of Liberty and even sat with me at my favorite dive bar. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't love riding the subway as much as I do. And, I can tell you one thing, it's not as fun as riding in the back seat of your 1966 Dodge Cornet. I miss that.

My last name is still Becker, and I plan to keep it that way, even after I walk down the aisle … someday.  Until then, I'm enjoying life, having fun and making the most of every experience. Oh, you'll love this … I started taking tap classes here in the city. These classes are tough, but my teachers are some of the most amazing dancers in the nation, and I'm learning so much from them. So, thank you for always taking Kimberly and I to our dance classes and sitting in the waiting room with a bunch of dance moms.  It's a good thing you always had one of your favorite Mickey Spillane novels with you. You must be the reason I have a passion for crime novels. Actually, did you know Spillane was born in Brooklyn? I guess this was all meant to be.

Even though you aren't physically here anymore, you still teach me so much. Because of you, everyone I care about knows it. You can be here one day and gone the next. Telling people how much I care about them is not an option for me. It's a must. Thank you for teaching me about good music … for sharing your love of Frank Sinatra, Elvis and Rock n' Roll. Thank you for always telling me I'm beautiful. Even when some boy made me cry and the mascara I took from mom's make up cabinet was running down my face, you'd tell me I was beautiful (and that the boy was a fool). Thank you for making me see that all we really have is today and for reminding me that money and possessions are not a way to measure life. Thank you for always being proud of me. Because of that, I am now proud of myself. Most of all, thank you for being you. For being a wonderful husband, son and father. Because of you, I am who I am today. I think I've turned out pretty well. I still have the long hair you always loved. I still talk too much during dinner. And, I'm still a little kid at heart.

Tonight, I'll dream of the nights we'd dance to the oldies in the living room. And of that orange carpet and the yellow rocker we'd sit in during story time. I'll hear you sing, in your lowest voice possible, "What a Wonderful World."