When I was little and it was your birthday, I would wander through the garage, the carport, the backyard, looking for things I could give you.
I'd collect nuts and bolts and screws from the ground, the floor, under the seats of all the cars in our yard, and fill a jar with them. I'd put a bow on it and feel nervous, and hopeful that you would be happy.
Sometimes I'm still that girl.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
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