Pappa had this incredible energy, the kind that made any room feel warmer just by him being in it. At any party, if there was music playing, you knew where to look: in the middle of the floor, walking stick in hand, hips moving like he had no care in the world, and that grin that said he was exactly where he belonged. And the drink? That was our little moment. I’d have one in my hand, and sure enough, he’d catch sight of it, make his way over, and with that mischievous look, say, “Get me one.” No hesitation, just Pappa being Pappa. And every time, I’d hand it over with a smile. But one of the best things was watching him with his wife. He had these little one or two-liners, not sweet, romantic stuff, no, they were more like clever little jabs, meant to get her attention, to get her listening. You could tell he loved the back-and-forth, the way she’d roll her eyes or talk back. It was their own language, really full of love, laughter, and a lifetime of knowing exactly how to push each other’s buttons in the best way. Acacia always says he was the heartbeat of the family. And it’s true. He didn’t have to raise his voice or be the biggest in the room. Pappa had presence. We’ll miss all of it , the dancing, his wittiness, his laugh. But more than anything, we’ll miss him and we’ll keep telling his stories, especially the ones that made Acacia light up with pride and love. You’ll never be forgotten. Rest in peace Pappa