I'm so glad when Daddy comes home

So, after reading Megan's blog post about my dad, whose birthday it is today, I thought of all the stories that I have about my dad that need to be told. The struggle I'm having, though, is that I have been saving some of these stories for his funeral. Since there's a good chance that I will forget them, however, I guess I might share a few here.

I, like Megan, still have a letter that Dad wrote when I was around 11 years old for a scouting activity. Some of those things he wrote always echoed in my ear. Foremost among those, he states that he has always appreciated my love for animals and how I have never wanted to hurt even the smallest creature (I used to catch cockroaches and take them outside rather than kill them). Because of that comment, I was able to resist the peer pressure that plagued so many to become a professional bowhunter later in life. To this day, I still won't watch hunting shows or eat at restaurants where the meat has been hunted rather than mass-processed. All kidding aside, though, that comment personally defined part of my character and is still something I am proud of.

Another instance took place while we were on vacation in Salt Lake City. While walking outside of temple square, a homeless man approached and asked for some money to satisfy his hunger, claiming he had been trapped in a mine for almost 3 days. My dad didn't buy his story, but he gave money to the man anyway. Ever since then, I have determined that I will not let my cynical side win out and have tried to give whenever asked. Note, per the Church requests, please do not give money to those requesting it outside of temple square--they have established more appropriate areas to assist the needy. also note, I have found old pioneer mines in the hills just north of temple square and now believe that guy could have been telling the truth.

Many have commented how much I look like my dad. I should point out, however, that there are key differences. In fact, when I was about 16 and feeling proud of my weightlifting progress, I recall my dad clarifying the matter for me when he stated "I was much bigger than you are when I was your age". I didn't see his strategy then, but my dad was looking out for me. He was well aware how difficult it would be for me to stay humble, given my seemingly super-human attributes. So, thanks, Dad. I am humble, thanks to you pointing out that I am not very big.

When I was a teenager, I helped keep score for the mens church basketball games. We had a nickname for every man that played on the team from the Kingwood wards (Pepto, Shoes, Bleeder, etc). Dad's name was Ref-boy. Originally, all games were self-offciated. Dad bought the official NBA officiating guide and studied it into the wee hours of the night. Sadly, Dad would call himself for the most obscure fouls and the other men got tired of the constant stops in the action, so they moved to having designated referees for each game. What did Dad do then? He bought his own referee shirt and whistle and was the best ref they'd ever had! I loved those games and watching my dad LAY DOWN THE LAW!!! On a side note, this may have some connection to Dad's well-documented requirement to read the entire set of instructions before beginning play with any board game, Christmas toy or puzzle.

Again, there are so many things to say and no pictures to make them exciting. In short, I am so grateful for all the time we spent together: the hundreds of hours collecting bugs, the cycling class we took at the Alkek velodrome, that when the Houston Rockets playoff games were only available on pay-per-view, we got them (my friends still talk about those nights cheering on the 1994 World Champs) and many, many others.

Above all, and not adequately mentioned, I am so glad that Dad married Mom! She is the perfect counterbalance to Dad's idiosyncracies. I am proud to be an ARNTSEN!


I love you so much, padre. I could go on and on. But I have a life to live. Thanks for everything you have given me (and hopefully will continue to give me).