If I ever write an auto-biography, this story most likely will be there. It is a story about my life I thought you might find interesting. Many times when I tell my stories, people say, “You should write a book about that.” So, here’s a start...

I trust my Dad more than anyone else I have ever met or expect to meet. Here's why.

I grew up in Minnesota, a place with LOTS of snow. When I was very young my Dad promised me that one day he would buy me a new sled. I believed him (just like most children believe their parents when they are young and impressionable). I trusted him when he said he would buy me a new sled, since he had never given me a reason to doubt him. I wanted a sled more than anything else up to that point in my life. Before his promise, I used to continually bother him to buy a sled for me. After his promise I never asked again.

For several years, birthdays and Christmas time came and went. Every time I received a gift from my Dad, I hoped it would be my new sled. Every time I though, "next time Dad will give me the sled." I felt bad when I did not receive a sled, but always KNEW that some day he would buy me a new sled.

One Christmas morning, I was the first one to wake up; which was very unusual, since my sisters had been the early-risers on Christmas mornings. Our family Christmas tradition was to open one gift on Christmas eve, then open the rest of our gifts on Christmas morning. My sisters always were excited about opening their gifts, so they usually were the first to inspect under the tree for new treasure.

I stood in our dark living room that early morning and looked at our Christmas tree with all the pretty lights and beautiful ornaments, and cried. When I saw a shiny new sled with a big red bow around it leaning against the wall behind the tree, I realized the sled did not matter any more. The gift I received on that cold Minnesota morning, so many years ago, was the fact that my Dad kept his promise. Excuse me, I need to brush a tear away before it falls on the keyboard.