I’ve been walking a lot in Missoula. It’s what I do when I’m taking an hour break from writing. Usually I’m on my headphones listening to music, taking audio notes, trying to pet whatever dogs and cats I see. Yesterday, I walked past a bookshop I’m familiar with. The shop was where I had my first ever book signing in 2015. The book was my debut.

Eight people showed up.

One of those was my dad.

He flew out from Chicago for it, sat in the “audience” to support my first ever novel. And make no mistake, at the time that was me jumping off into the unknown. A leap of faith. A new valley to call my own.

After the signing (it didn’t take long haha), we ate ice cream and watched the river. A bald eagle soared over the valley, searching. He and I watched the scene quietly, an unspoken understanding between us.

No matter what, through it all, this guy has had my back. I strive to be more like him, more kind, less judgmental, more logical and practical.

A few years ago we took a camping trip to my favorite Montana river, and then on to Yellowstone. He bought a new tent and sleeping bag just for the trip. We fly fished and took pictures deep in the national forest. I still remember us wading the river at sunset, watching as the trout nipped bugs on the surface, as a moose and calf slowly emerged from the woods and crossed the river. Or filming the elk in Yellowstone, or the spectacular night sky. Or the poor guy having to eat my terrible cooking.

When I was a teenager and getting into trouble, he set me aside and told me I could be anything I wanted to be if I put my mind to it. I never forgot that lesson.

I miss those trips. Those times. I don’t see my parents as much as I used to.

But you see, that’s what they taught me. A healthy eagle flies far from the nest.

Happy Father’s Day.