50 years in the making

When my father was born, John F. Kennedy was in his first year of service. The Vietnam war would start in 2 months. And last but not least, The Ken doll was introduced to the world. A lot has happened in 50 years. Electricity, running water, and the wheel. ;) Just kidding dad, you're not that old.
Everyone always looks at my father and thinks (and later says to me) he does not look 50. We have been confused as brothers on a few occasions. His brown hair, the same as it was in high school, shows no signs of grey. Only his beard, when grown on vacation, gives way to the inevitable sign of aging. No wrinkles show on his face. His hands, strong as hell, emit those of a 25 year old, not someone celebrating their half century mark. I feel as if it wasn't for his bad knee and hips, the man would still be out playing soccer and basketball with people half his age, as he did when I was a child.
       We never say much, my dad and I when we are together. The shared silence says enough. When we do talk, it's either complaining about an athlete, or arguing about the direction of our country. We used to have some doozies of disagreements, but no more. A quiet man, you can most likely find him on the beach now, or when in Minnesota, in the woods, staring at bark. While my mom is the one who made me decide to go to culinary school, my dad was the one that showed me what food could really be. Not he himself, (He does grill pretty well) but the things and places he showed me. When we traveled, we never ate at the typical Johnny McFunandstuffs, and Captain Crabpants, etc. We ate at nice restaurants, we ate at ethnic restaurants, we went to markets. A particular trip stands out for me, when he took me to New York City for a weekend. He was there on a national business meeting, and I tagged along. When schmoozing was still allowed, he would take doctors out to dinner, and we went to a couple decent places. But then, the night before we left, me and him went out to dinner. We went to Morimoto, Masaharu Morimoto's namesake restaurant in the meatpacking district. I was 16 years old, and this was extravagance at it's finest. Looking back, we'll both say it was over the top, and over priced, but when we went in, I think both our jaws dropped, and we will both remember it forever. That night taught me what a restaurant could be, and what it could do to two people. My dad showed me what maybe someday I could do to a father and son. The most politically correct man I know, he also taught me to be fair to, if not hard on, people. He taught me it's essential to grow a beard on vacation and the weekends. He taught me to play soccer and basketball. He helped me build my school projects at 7 o'clock the night before they were due, every single time, for my entire life. Yes we had our differences, and yes we fought like hell, but I am a better human being for it. I look at other parents, and back to mine, and I realize how amazing I had it growing up, and how amazing I have it now. I turn 21 on Sunday, the day after my Father's. 21 and 50 are two big birthdays in America, and I am sad I will not be home. I have a feeling my first legal beer with my father would be something like this.
(Click the purple thing mom)
I know this was long winded, but I just wanted to say I love you dad, and thank you for everything you've done for me, and will do in the future.