To the man who loves everything ground beef (sloppy joes, hamburgers, steaks, chili and more), who firmly believes that the first gulp of milk from the jug is the best and that the smooth, untouched surface of peanut butter in a jar is next to heaven:

Thank you for your spankings, your evil eye(s), the roof over my head and the food on my plate. Thank you for making me finish my homework, brush my teeth, respect my mother and stop fighting with my sister. And, of course, thank you for teaching me pre-calculus when I asked how to do my long division homework.

Have a great 51st birthday, Dad.