Dear Dad,

Ever since I can remember, you've called me your "Peanut baby," you still do now. I inherited my big blue eyes, ambition, stubbornness, and outgoing personality from you. I also inherited my loud talking voice from you, because when you and your siblings get together, it really does sound like a shouting match. But I wouldn't have it any other way, family events are always happily loud and boisterous, and our house is no exception. Thanks for all the adventures, even the ones I don't remember, like when you took me to Summerfest when I was 2 months old and Michael was 3.

One of my fondest memories of you and I is our daddy-daughter dance routine. I started lessons at MAJK when I was 5, and the 5 & 6's class did routines with our parents. This year, the dads were the lucky chosen ones. You graciously went to every practice and had fun, and you were a pretty great dancer too. I'll never forget dancing onstage with you to a medley of songs from "South Pacific", me in my pink dress and big boa, washing that man right out of my hair. You were the coolest sailor up there, and I'll always remember standing on top of your tennis shoes and dancing while the crowd of parents ate it up.

When I think of my childhood, I remember Mom staying home with Michael & I during the day, and how excited we'd get when you came home from work. I remember the exact "Hiya hiya!" you'd say from the back hall, and we'd come running for hugs. I remember the family vacations; the roadtrips to South Carolina, our Disney trip, Washington D.C. when I didn't appreciate the historical monuments enough because it was 90 degrees, up north, and Colorado. You emphasized how important it was to spend time together and make memories as a family, and I appreciate that so much.

I was 8 when you started going to St. Francis Seminary to become a deacon. The word "seminary" greatly confused Michael & I, on more than one occasion we mistakenly said "cemetery" instead, to your and Mom's horror and amusement. Little 8 year old me, going around telling my friends that my dad spends his Saturdays at the cemetery. Completely normal. Since I can remember, our faith has been a huge part of my life; from going to church every week, attending St. Leonard's for 9 years, the mission trips I went on, our trip to the National Catholic Youth Conference in Indianapolis in 2013, to watching you prepare your homilies in your office and preaching at mass. Countless people in high school and around town ask me what its like to have a deacon for a dad. I usually answer with something like this: He's my dad. Just because he's a deacon doesn't mean he didn't ground me sometimes, it doesn't mean that he sits around 24/7 listening to Christian music and praying. He does pray from his prayer book several times a day and knows more Bible facts than the average human, he still listens to Bruce Springsteen and comes home after preaching on Sundays to nap on the couch and drink beer while watching football. I'm grateful for all the special memories I have of you assisting at my confirmation mass and my graduation mass, plus Scott and Erin's wedding this past spring. I'm the proudest daughter in the world, watching you preach. Even when you reference me in your homilies when I'm least expecting it.

Thank you for everything you do for me and our family, we appreciate you so much. These past few years haven't been the easiest, there's been a lot of trying times and change. I miss your loud laugh and funny jokes when I'm away at school, but when you pick me up for the weekend, I can tell how excited you are to see me, that you miss me too. I can always count on you to email me the concert reviews from the Journal Sentinel and to make the best chinese food when I come home from school. You're the best dad ever and I'm proud to be your "Peanut baby".

All the love,

Katie