Happy birthday, Papa.
We love you so much, we'd like to eat your face.
Or have tea parties with you.
Sorry about that time we went all Godfather on you.
And buried you alive in small children as you rested your weary bones on the hammock.
And the pink hat. It really made your eyes pop though.
We know you're going to enjoy being 29.
We mailed your Bloody Mary Asparagus and pickled jalapenos the other day and hope they arrive at your doorstep in one piece and not in a soggy box. They're tasty. Promise. There's a blank check in there, too - you just fill in the amount! I hope I remembered to put it in. Well, it's the thought that counts, I 'spect.
Thanks for being Papa to all these chitlins, Dad to every friend I've ever had, and Daddy to me.
Happy Cinco de Dave-o!