My Dad

 

My father died on Wednesday, February 1.  If you knew Wayne McMillen, you knew…. 

His grandsons hung the moon.

His wife Carol was his little chickadee or his old crow….he could never remember which. 

He looked out for people who needed help - always -  and he thought you should do the same. 

His work ethic was strong and believed that a job worth doing was worth doing well. 

He was unmatched in his mastery of profanity. 

He told a great story and laughed often. 

He shot the moon - successfully - every damn time he played Hearts with you. 

His garden was beautiful, always, but his tomatoes will be better next year. 

He had an encyclopedic knowledge of baseball and thought St. Louis would win it all this year.

He advised that you "don't take any wooden nickels."

He called you Jocko if you made an error on the sporting field and he was not amused. 

That “can’t never does”. 

That he cared deeply and was much beloved.

That his daughters are loud and bossy and now you know why. 

Think of him when you admire a flower in the garden, enjoy a tomato still warm from the sun, set up a tent in the woods, and laugh at good story.  He’d want it that way.