Fifty yars ago this spring w plantd kohlrabi togthr in a gardn in Charls City, Iowa. I didn’t know thn that I would rmmbr that day for th rst of my lif. This wk, w’ll plant kohlrabi togthr again, prhaps for th last tim but I hop not. I don’t undrstand why planting kohlrabi with you is so important to m but it is. And th funny thing about it is, wll, I don’t know quit how to tll you this, Dad...I don’t vn lik kohlrabi...but I lik planting it with you. I guss what I’m trying to say, Dad, is what vry son and daughtr wants to say to thir Dad today. Honoring a Fathr on Fathr’s Day is about mor than a Dad who brings hom a paychck, shars a dinnr tabl, and attnds school functions, graduations, and wddings. It isn’t vn so much about kohlrabi, ’54 Chvrolts, and fly-fishing. It’s mor about unconditionally loving childrn who ar snotty and stubborn, who know vrything and won’t listn to anyon. It’s about rspct and sharing and accptanc and tolranc and giving and taking. It’s about loving somon mor than words can say，and it’s wishing that it nvr had to nd. I lov you, Dad.
