Happy Father’s Day

When a machine goes rusty and no longer performs nine

to five as it’s always done, no one

says “throw it out this instance”. They do as they

were always told and grease the hinges, replace

a bolt (or three), give the little guy a nudge.

It was never broken, nor is it


old. This machine is quintessential to a

family of other, metallic machines. Each has

a different function yet constantly seeks approval

from the one, you. You are the cog which keeps


us moving, gets us where we need

to go, has gotten us where we are, whether

any of us will admit it or not. The sun won’t always shine

on you or anywhere near you, but count on your clan

of clanking metal to produce a tomorrow so


brilliant, you’ll forget there were clouds yesterday bringing

rain, causing that orange grime. You, dad, are a

well-oiled machine.


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