Forty years ago today you were born. I think angels must have been singing (or at least giggling) when they bestowed that gift on your parents. If only they'd known what trouble you would get into...they might have been better prepared! :)
You: cracked open your brother's head with a hoe (earned him a few stitches), pinched the dog's nose with a crawfish (earned yourself a few stitches), wrecked your car into an indian pointing tree, threw a keg party or two while your parents were out of town, broke a beer bottle over your head (earned yourself a few stitches), got your car stuck in the mud at Lake Travis (earned yourself a few stitches). Yes, I think you can see the pattern here....
You: loved your pet rabbit and your many dogs like they were family, stopped hunting because you didn't like killing, two-stepped outside in the dark quietly singing songs to your baby sister when she wouldn't sleep, took your younger brother on a wild golf outing when he was sick and tired of being sick and tired, made sandwiches for the homeless in Jackson Square on our honeymoon, spent numerous Thanksgiving Days serving food to the homeless, gave your heart to our little boy the second he was born, got emotional and teary-eyed the first time you took him fishing, worried about your family when you were sick, loved your mother so very much, and did everything you could to see the world as a glass half-full.
You: could make me laugh at anytime, could make something fabulous to eat out of nothing, could find the fun in the most mundane things, made fun of me (and everyone else) all the time, thought you knew everything at all times (you thought you were wrong once - but you were mistaken...), were the best father, and the best travel companion, drinking buddy, husband, and best friend a girl could have.
You: are missed.
Happy Birthday Daniel. I wish you were here to celebrate it with us.