One of my first memories of Dad, is also one of my core memories. Mind you this was way back when I was 3-4 years old. Dad was a long haul truck driver, so he be gone from 6 to 8 weeks at a time. So when he was home always, he was wanting his own space to decompress. But I remember vaguely at that time, he came in from the road in the middle of night. I was awoken, but couldn't go back to sleep. So he put little ole me at that time on to the kitchen counter, and got the peanut butter out. Now mind you at the time we didn't have much money, so the peanut butter was of the food stamp variety. A white pail with black writing, and tasted like old cardboard in a gelatinous texture. But just him and me eating out of that tub with a big old tablespoon at a time. That for me it was the time he took out of his sleep, to spend that moment with me. Now as an adult, and a parent as well. I reflect on that memory, and use it as a basis of my moral servitude. That any time spent on another person, whether it's your loved ones or complete stranger is invaluable. The last thing I remember saying to him, before he drifted away was "Butch, give them hell, and I love you, Marine."