Kent, A.K.A. Dad. The large printing presses crank loudly as my dad stands by them and takes control. He pulls the paper out and hands it to me. I feel the indent in the words that sink into the paper, the solid red color that soaks into the thick paper.

That’s my dad; he printed this.

I remember the time when my dad stood behind me on the press and he let me control the press. The most fun thing of all is making stuff with him. We would build and build, then, we would have a problem. We would share our ideas. Then boom, we would come to a conclusion, and fix our problem.

His belief is to carry on hats and letterpress printing. He has favorite hats and hats he doesn’t like. but I’m pretty sure that by the end of the year he wears all his hats at least at one point. 

Printing, he is great at it. No matter what, he loves his job. Plus, he comes homealmost every night with a great story to tell.

That’s my dad.

(This piece was written by my 12 year old son as a birthday gift for me.)

This entry was posted on Monday, February 15th, 2010 at 9:47 am and is filed under Musings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.