Dad, Mom and me at Acadia National Park, 1989.

There is a pile of snapshots on the desk. They’re mostly photos of me that mom put together for a surprise birthday party back in December to celebrate my 40th.

I need to get these photographs back to her, but I’m glad they were around today. Today was dad’s birthday. He would have been 70. I think about him often.

He’s there when a sweet old truck or car passes by. Or a new gizmo comes out, and how he would have been giddy by sharing it.

I think about him when I put on a pair of suspenders, or can’t contain a goofy grin.

When I look over at his Canon AE-1 and wonder about the places it went with us. Like Hawaii or The World’s Fair or Cadillac Mountain in Maine (above).

He’s in the silver hairs taking over my beard, and the furrow of my brow.

And on this day we would celebrate his birthday, I think about him even more. But he’s always there, really.

I suppose our dads never really leave.