Dad eventually went into a nursing home. I visited him 2-3 times each week. He was still telling every one about his recycling ideas right there in the nursing home. He still wanted me to write hundreds of letters. Quietly, but firmly, I told him about what I was doing that actually worked. We argued sometimes, but I stayed the course. Dad died without ever getting close to his dreams. I feel guilty, sometimes, but I know that some day some of his ideas can live on as Chimorel's recycling program continues to grow. This one's for you, Dad.