Meister Eckhart, a 14th century Christian mystic, is quoted (or misquoted, according to some) as saying, "If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is 'Thank you,' that would suffice". Over the first week that Dad was home from the hospital in Winston-Salem, that quote was one of the many things rolling around in my head as we attended to Dad. Just before I left to go back to Decatur, unsure whether I’d have a chance to speak to him again, I sat down said "Thank you," for all that he had given to me, for all that he had meant to me.

And there are many things that I am thankful for: the safe, secure home that I grew up in, the unflagging support for my various interests and passions as I grew up, the examples of thoughtfulness and service. But what I'd like to remember here today is the gift, the example, the inspiration of his lively curiosity.

If you've ever visited our home, you might remark on the number of books, especially the collection of military history. Dad was fascinated by history, about the people and circumstances of combat and war. He was especially curious about the leaders, what decisions they made and why.

Dad was curious about traveling through and being comfortable in the outdoors, especially the mountains. As a child, he had never spent a night under the stars — when Steve and I became Boy Scouts, he dove into it. He read books by and about hikers. He studied catalogs, visited stores, talked to many people about gear, about hikes and trails, about the best methods for breaking in boots, treating drinking water, even transporting eggs.

As far as I know, Dad's curiosity never got him into real trouble, unlike Curious George, or that old saw about curiosity and the cat. It's tempting to attribute that to his curiosity being tempered by a certain wisdom, and that may be true. But the time that he made plans for he, Steve and I to load up overnight camping gear into our homemade canvas and fiberglass canoe, and set off down the Chattooga River (Sections II and III); he (and we) were saved simply by the dumb luck of bad weather cancelling the trip.

Dad was curious about food. Many know of his fondness for Spam. He'd joke about it being the product of his "nutritionally misspent" youth. You may not know that, wondering if there were a way to combine Spam with some other exotic food, he invented Spam sushi rolls. In his travels to Scotland, China and Korea, he’d always come back with stories about new foods that he tried, and often with samples of local products or cooking implements.

Dad was curious about his Scottish heritage. This came together with other passions on a trip to Scotland in September of 1976. He, my mom and my brother David were exploring the Isle of Arran. Mom and David were riding ponies and, typically, Dad was walking. He wanted to ascend Goatfell, the highest point on the island. As he told the story, there were nearly as many types of weather as there were steps on the hike. But at one point, in the fog, he fell in with another hiker, a Scotsman, who as it turned out was a salesman, not of the mundane — food, office supplies and the like — but of Concorde jets, of all things! After the hike, they ended up together is a pub and his new friend suggested that he try something new, a "Malt" as locals refer to single-malt Scotch whisky. It was through this encounter that he developed his taste for and deep appreciation of Laphroig, something that he passed on to his sons.

For me, and I'm sure for my brothers, and I hope for our children, the inspiration of this curiosity about all facets of the world, about people, about beliefs — and a determination to get to the bottom of things, to follow a thread to its end, the honesty to really understand something — has been a gift and blessing in my life.

And for this, and for him, I am thankful.