< by Nate >

There is an inherent connection between a father and son. In fact, I’d go further and say that there is a connection between a grandfather and grandson, godfather and godson, etc.

It is a profound bond, one rooted at the genetic level. It explains a boys love for the outdoors, his eventual transition – sometimes – to competitive team sports, and everything in between – in my case, a love for westerns.

It also explains why, at age 24, I cried like a baby while reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (when it comes to a father-son relationship, that novel really plucks our heartstrings).

My Grandfather, Gerald Linsmeyer, has taught me many things. He taught me how to curse, how to properly use tools, how to enjoy the little things in life, and a love for John Wayne.

My Godfather, Ken Linsmeyer, has taught me a love for the outdoors – one that, as time has passed and reality’s struggles have taken over, has sadly been neglected. He has taught me how to laugh, to not take things too seriously, and how to put your heart first.

My Father, Daniel Carey, has taught me the most. He taught me to be respectful, honest, and hard-working. He taught me my dry sense of humor, to treat women right, and what my role is in this world: To be the best man I can possibly be, and then some.

Because of Dan Carey, I … love the Packers, Brewers and Badgers … am lukewarm about the Bucks … love westerns, and most of Clint Eastwood’s work … am knowledgeable about beer and whiskey … Can’t stand the Bears … know my way around a tool shed … know where the septic tank is … and the lawnmower … and where water collects in the backyard after a hard rain.

I’ve laughed with my dad. I’ve cried with him. We’ve wrestled in the front yard, and yelled at each other during stressful times.

But through it all, I’ve never doubted his love for me, or my sister and brother. He is Dad, and a heck of a one at that.