Thinking back, I find Daddy's major role in my memories is that of Protector.
From the time a visit to a Florida zoo left me convinced that a bear was in our hotel room (Daddy "murdered" the bad dream by going to the parking lot, shooting his gun and coming back in to tell me the "bear" was dead) to the time he rushed me to the doctor, siren blasting, because I thought I had been snake-bitten (it ended up being a bee sting) to the time he got me out of a brief but disastrous "starter marriage" (he even paid $25 court costs to get my name changed back from "Tucker" to "Love"), I knew that if I ever were in trouble, Daddy would be there for me.

The best times I ever knew in my life were the Saturday mornings in Daddy's house when I was little. Kenny, Carla, Dana and I would get up EARLY, make coffee and take it to Daddy and Betty Ann. We would then pile into their bed (a double bed at this point) and all six of us would watch a few cartoons in bed. We called it "free time." I learned a valuable lesson I carried into my second (lasting) marriage: the family that free times together stays together. He came to each and every dance recital I had - and having attended a few of them for my own child, I can now appreciate the agony he went through waiting to see his own child on stage for five minutes. I remember watching him pace up and down the sidelines when Kenny played football at Talladega Academy, watching and hoping that his son would know the joy of winning.  Daughter, Paige Love