I owe a lot to my father. He taught me to brush my teeth and to go to bed early and always try and get a good night's sleep. From him I learned not to waste food or water or electricity. Or plastic bags. Or paper bags. Or toilet paper. Or anything really, but most especially, he taught me not to waste my time. He instilled in me a love of books and knowledge and to be proud of the ability to look things up if you have questions. And lord knows I had plenty of questions. He acquainted me with religion and Christianity and enrolled me in Sunday school, but like him, I soon learned that religion was not everything it was promised to be. He taught me how to play chess, how to ride a bike, how to swim and hold my breath under water, and how to build a snow fort. He tried to teach me tennis, but I was never any good at it. He made sure I knew about all the fun stuff kids can do with just some creativity and a little effort: match rockets; rubber band powered pistols that shoot little cardboard squares; paper air planes; kites. He made sure I never lacked for interesting toys: model planes both plastic and balsa; model rockets with real engines that blasted off; puzzles and slide rules and calculators. He taught me that board games and card games are fun, that math and logic could be just as much fun and that Zero To Zillions was a book worth holding on to. In fact, I still have it. He taught me about contradictions (does the barber who shaves all those who don't shave themselves shave himself?); about different sizes of infinity; that the universe is a truly huge place; that black holes really exist; and that philosophy can be both pretty interesting and pretty maddening. He gave me stamp albums and coin holders, but those hobbies didn't impress me like they did him. He taught me that music was beautiful, and that learning to play an instrument, though superficially an "art", also exercised the mathematical side of your brain. He urged me to get out and see the world, take trips, experience different and unfamiliar places, meet new people, attend varied events, and to not be afraid to take calculated risks in pursuit of all these things. I regret that I have yet to live up to this ideal, but there's still some time, and with my dad's rich life now behind me as an example, I intend to try harder. And that's the final lesson he left me with, and with which I would like to leave you: it doesn't matter whether you succeed or fail as long as you just try your best and make an honest effort. So here's to you dad - trying your best for over 91 years.