This grouping of haphazardly taped together pictures of our four perfect young'ns, is shown
exactly as the way they have been taped to the inside door of no less than four of my lockers (while at Metro at different stations) and now on the inside of my medicine cabinet. Since I can't go back in time, I have been able to see them perpetually in the simpler stages of our lives - both mine and theirs. I can see them everyday just as they once were: lovable, agreeable, able to get on the floor and wrestle with, attend daddy-daughter or father & son events, homemade father's day cards, graduations, driving instructions, semi-ornery teen years, and IRS tax deductions.
No rhyme or reason for the way I'd taped them together; I can vaguely remember doing it. Without them even knowing it, they've always been a part of my police-life, both
before shift while putting on the uniform and at the
end of shift, changing back into "street clothes."
No comment on the hair styles. . . oops, I already did. You can't see it, but Jason had a tail.
Then the piano protege', although we didn't know it then. The spoiled, last baby of the house.
For ME, it's part of what being a dad is all about; the love of my kids and desire for their
health,
happiness and
successes in their own lives! I wanted to be a
better dad to them than my dad was to me ~
this is probably true of most dads, it's not a slam to my dad. These pictures also represent my legacy, and thousands of events and memories to include, but
far from
inclusive: watching them sleep at night when I got home from work, fishing trips without catching any, Disneyland & beach trips, traffic tickets, minor car accidents, taking driving privileges away, broken bones, removing a bedroom door to cure door slamming, surgeries, prom nights, calls with flat tires, a missionary send off, wedding dances, grand babies and son-in-laws.
True irony: By the time I figured out my dad wasn't always wrong, I had kids of my own thinking I was. Happy Father's Day to me. Thanks, Carol :)
Gorgeous views, clean air, no graffiti, no sirens, no barking dogs and the cell phone stays in the cart to be used only for emergencies or order pizza :) 
Taking in the views waiting my turn.
Stay out of the water, get over the sand and hope for the best. But it's still a nice setting.
Above ~ gotta make it over the ravine, both directions (can't see it, there's a cart bridge over this) and I get to wear the latest golf fashions and spend time with good friends ~ below.
G.O.L.F. is erroneously thought to stand for Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden. Like most modern words, the word "golf" derives from older languages and dialects. Golf comes from medieval Dutch and old Scots. The medieval Dutch word "kolf" or "kolve" meant "club." It is believed that word passed to the Scots, whose old Scots dialect transformed the word into "golve," "gowl" or "gouf." By the 16th Century, the word "golf" had emerged. Thanks for the lessons, Carol, now I'm hooked . . . . . . . 
