Analysis of Harvey Franklin Hulse - August 10, 1931 – April 15, 2003

My dad was not perfect.
 He never claimed to be.
 But he always believed in me.

My dad was not a rich man.
 He was always building something;
 A fun thing that gave me countless hours of play.

My dad liked a simple life.
 He sat by me, on the shores of Lake Kenosha.
 We fished for hours, just us two.

My dad loved country music.
 He played his records and strummed his guitar.
 He taught me to play songs I hated, as a fellow Yankee I never related.

My dad was not perfect in speech.
 He ate skeddie, grinders, hotdawgs and bitza.
 Together we shucked clams for frying.

My dad was wrong in many ways, what you might call uncouth.
 Right or wrong he told you what he thought.
 I cannot lie there were times he made me cry.

The longer he is gone, the more I realize.
He was a very big man in this little girl's eyes.
 Happy Birthday Daddy, I miss you still.