Grandpa Mickey was one of my greatest supporters and very influential in my life. As a child, there was nothing I loved more than making him proud.

He encouraged me to fully embrace everything the outdoors had to offer — fishing, canoeing, swimming, camping, and running wild and free at his home. I’ll never forget the time I caught my fishing lure in his hat. He laughed it off, of course, but still turned it into a lesson — that was who he was. Kind and supportive, yet structured and disciplined.

With his military background, he carried himself with pride and purpose. He took great pride in running our marching squad, and I was honored to be the flag carrier. He supported me in all my sports, especially my love of soccer, always showing up with encouragement and steady belief in me.

He taught me how to swim, sharing stories of being the New Mexico State swimming champion. Everything he taught came from a place of passion because it had first been his own love. That passion translated into everything he did.

He told stories like it was his job — and no matter how many times I heard them, I was always captivated. His practical jokes were legendary — sometimes terrifying, always elaborate. I’ll never forget waking up to a mink pelt scarf he had tucked into my bed while I was sleeping. I was completely freaked out… and he thought it was hilarious.

He was truly one of a kind. I cherish the countless memories we shared, and I carry his lessons, his strength, and his love with me always.

Grandpa Mickey was my childhood hero. Everybody said I looked just like him, and nothing made me more proud. He was everything I wanted to be when I grew up.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are from his and Grandma's house down by the river. He'd spend hours throwing a football for me in the evenings while I made running, diving, leaping catches. He'd laugh and say I made the easy ones look hard. He taught me how to swim and  how to paddle a canoe by myself, and we'd fish the river and local ponds  in his old poke boat, a special fiberglass kayak that I still have today. Sometimes we'd be out well after sunset in the summer, floating and fishing and chatting quietly together, until we couldn't see our lines anymore and we'd head home with a mess of fish to clean. 

Grandpa and his friend from way back, Stuart, had a comedy schtick where they'd don cowboy hats and swap jokes as a pair of good old boys called Buford and Slim. Grandpa would mix in colorful names and places from his childhood in the Southwest, like High Lonesome, Nacogdoches, Ol Hershel Ledbetter, Two Gun Harry from Tucumcari, and Wayne the Profane. I wanted nothing more than to be able to tell jokes and stories as well as my Grandpa.

An inordinate love of the outdoors was something we had in common and often bonded over. Whenever I told Grandpa about some new animal I had seen, or part of the country I was exploring, he would get just as excited as I was and inevitably be reminded of that time way back when...

After Grandma and Grandpa moved to Sedona, Beth and I went out to visit them every winter for years. For weeks at a time we'd camp, mountain bike, hike, and explore the incredible natural beauty in the area. Always we'd come back to their house to drink their homemade kombucha, hang out with them, and listen to the old stories. It was a home away from home.

When our third child was born, we named him Grady to carry on his great grandparents' family name. 

We love you Grandpa. I'll be seeing you in the mountains and forests and deserts and rivers and big skies that you always spoke of with such fondness. I'll be passing on to my children the skills and passions and stories you passed on to me.