Convinced.

Texas, Michigan, Jackson, jail. I never really knew. When I was 3-years old, we watched a plane fly over our yard and Mike said “Dad is on there!” After that, I was convinced my dad was a traveling business man. He had a briefcase and glasses and wore a black suit. I was three.

I got older. Only Mike and I ever talked about him. Seemed maybe he wasn’t such a good guy. I was afraid to mention his name. Grandma really loved him. Grandpa really loved me.

I got older. I imagined him to be great. I think he was—sometimes. He could read blueprints as easily as you are reading this. He could catch the biggest bass in the pond and quickly saddle a pony. He broke horses as easily as he broke hearts. He was great—sometimes. He lost a battle within himself. He was deflated and defeated. He gave up. Convinced he was worthless.

I got older. I was angry and then I wasn’t. I was curious and then I wasn’t.

He died last year. I never cried. I couldn’t imagine him gone since he was never really here. I mourn the life that he could have had and the chances wasted. But.

I am happy for him. Happy his slate is clean. Happy that I have one more set of protective eyes watching over me and those I love. I am convinced that he is working for me and that he had a part in my success in 2012.

RIP Patrick Linn McCormick. 2013 is here—and you owe me!