A walking stick cut from the Narrows in his hand.
Pulling out a map and charting a course.
A voice sounding out words:
Bingo!
Only in America!
Das Fenster!
Love you buddy.
A man walking in the evening towards home with his brown briefcase. The sun behind his back.
Years later rushing towards his son who has returned to face a trial.
Blowing a fake bugle to wake up his boys for their paper routes.
Driving them around town when the snow is too deep.
Making sure his children know what is expected of them. That there is a high standard to bearing the name 'Corry'.
His boy running a race and hearing his encouraging yells all the way to the finish line.
Seeing this man on the passenger's side of a driver's instructor car all over town.
Grandma and her ice cream.
Scribbled on legal pad showing a fake intersection and the results of not watching for 'grandma and her ice cream.'
Silently feeling the hurts of his kids, not knowing what to say, but we know he loves us.
Sending them far from home, knowing they are doing a greater work. Knowing they'll be protected, emotional to let them go, but he does it anyway because he believes in greater things than himself.
Hugging his children fiercely because words won't work when they return to him.
Working tirelessly to help his family. To help his community. His ward. His God.
Working because he loves it. And that is life to him.
Sharing his feelings of God. Of the prophet, his emotions just below the surface.
Being a model of manhood. Not perfect, but inching closer everyday.
His son watching his dad and mom in the rear view mirror, following their boy even though their boy is a dad himself.
That son feeling comfort because he knows his dad is watching out for him...and always will.
The word 'Herr' means Dad to me.
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