Pops, remember when...

**A word for readers outside the family: sorry to leave you out of this one - these family memories would take way too long to explain, and you would inevitably find them some combination of relatively mundane, strange, and crazy**

**A word for the in-laws: if your Hinckley spouse tells you the same stories over and over, like Rob claims I do, you'll know all these memories well. If you don't, then rejoice: there may still be something in your marriage to talk about!**

With all the "remember when" and other sundry Hinckley family nostalgia being traded recently, I thought this Father's Day deserved some reflection on Pops' 34 years of fatherhood (in no particular order and by no means even close to complete):

Remember when you moved to New York so I could have the city so nice they named it twice on my birth certificate? Thanks!

Remember when Ann and I painted the Mercedes?

Remember when you jumbled the words in the bedtime stories you read us?

Remember when you would tell us our favorite Book of Mormon stories at bedtime (Ann loved Alma and Amulek and I loved the Gadianton robbers - hmmm)?

Remember when you used to come home at 2:00 p.m. and watch "Leave it to Beaver" with us?

Remember when you took us to your office in Grand Rapids to show us the vault (I was scared there might be bank robbers inside)?

Remember when you woke us up at 6:00 a.m. every Saturday morning to hike either Camelback or Squaw Peak?

Remember when I was nervous the night before the U.S. History AP test, and you made me close my study books and go on a long run with you to relax?

Remember when you took us on a four-day trek across the Teton Crest Trail (aka "the blasted wilderness")?

Remember when you took us on a four-day trek through the backcountry of the Grand Canyon and we made silt 'n' mush for breakfast? And hid in tents during the downpour?

Remember when we all recited "The Rim" at the top and cried?

Remember when you played Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris records on Saturday mornings while you did finances?

Remember when you then played all those songs on the guitar once you were finished shuffling papers through the partnership desk?

Remember when you ran races through the Ada Covered Bridge and we cheered you across the finish line and hugged your legs even though you were sweaty?

Remember when we went camping and hiking at Pinnacle One and ate camping donuts?

Remember the Isuzu Trooper?

Remember when you rescued us from the dreary rain of Detroit and took us to the spectacular heat of the Sonoran desert?

Remember when you hooked up outdoor speakers and we listened to Beach Boys all summer, wearing baggies and harache sandals?

Remember when we knew you were home from work because you'd do a cannonball into the pool?

Remember when you took us to the Grand Canyon for Thanksgiving and we ate dinner at Cedar Ridge?

Remember Thanksgiving at the Arizona Club?

Remember breakfast at the Wrigley Mansion?

Remember the Friday night fish fry at Mesa Country Club?

Remember BOH?

Remember when you took Ann and I to Boston for the first time, and we went to Barnstable and Gov. Thomas Hinckley's grave and discovered Sturgis Library and Parnassas Books and Jack's Outback? (and then made them all Hinckley family shrines...)

Remember when we took pictures of us wearing Zions Bank hats all over the country?

Remember when you visited Spencer and me on our missions and Lizzie ordered trois McFlurries?

Remember when you and Spencer and I drove up to Conference the first April we lived in Arizona, and we made up stories about the guy in the Porsche all the way there? And you drove us to see the Grand Canyon for the first time, and we saw the IMAX movie? And stopped at all those Navajo jewelry stands along the way?

Remember stack of kids?

Remember rough tuckin' ins? (Ellie loves these, by the way)

Remember when you took us to see Chariots of Fire in the theater - three times?

Remember when you took us all to Madrid for the temple dedication, and showed us all the places you went as a missionary?

Remember when you'd come to New York on business and take me out to fancy French restaurants and then give me $20 before putting me in a taxi home?

Remember when you read or retell or watch something funny, and you laugh so hard and slap your leg and can hardly get through it?

Remember when you ran a marathon and Pops was in the House?

Remember when you were a workin' stiff?

Remember when you made our lives possible? Thanks!

I'm on organ duty tomorrow, and I'll be playing a new prelude/postlude for your Father's Day present: Tabernacle organist Andrew Unsworth's arrangement of Jerusalem.

Thanks, Pops! Let's leave the "we love you so much and will miss you so much but we're so excited and you'll make an amazing El Jefe" conversation for another day. For today, just Happy Father's Day.