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6.20.2021: I vaguely remember my first car ride with my dad. Apparently, my mother told dad to take me along to work with him. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the roar of the car engine, and the squealing tires as I slid from one side of the car to the other in the back seat as we rounded curves at a high rate of speed. In the distance I could hear police sirens. To drown out the sirens, my dad turned up the radio and starting singing along to “That Good Old Mountain Dew.” Being the son of a bootlegger was never boring. 

Okay, I don’t remember any of that at all, but when my dad told me that story, I believed him. Happy Father’s Day, dad. Wish you were still with us to spin another yarn or two. Love you! 

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