Kaitlyn Vanderschoor

Kaitlyn Vanderschoor

I want to thank my dad because of autumn campfires and motorcycle rides. I want to thank my dad because of that smell attached to his shirt when he walks in the door, a mix of dying leaves and motorcycle gas. I want to thank my dad because he reminds me of home in a way no words ever will. The heavy, swirling smoke, the sickly sweet gas, the crisp morning air; it was a story of my life, my home, and the furious pounding of my little feet when I propelled myself into my dad's arms after a long day at school. I look at this and I see what I'm working for. It's that, right there. Walking in the door and having my little girl squeal in the happiness only a child can maintain, the joy that comes with her mother. This is what I'm studying for, stressing for, and struggling for. My most cherished desire is to be for my children what my father is for me; a person who is loved unconditionally, and loves as much in return. I want to thank my dad for the smell of motorcycle gas in old shirts, and for reminding me why that's important.