To those who deserve it:

Thank You,

To the girl in my kindergarten class way back in the '80s who looked at me with a disgusted look on her face during lunch and yelled "Chew with your mouth closed!"

To my neighbour back in grade 5 who informed me of smelly armpits and the benefits of deodorant.

To the plumber who rented my parents basement in 1992 and built me a hockey net out of spare tubing.

To the grade 8 drama teacher who told me that I didn't have what it takes to perform on stage, only driving me to prove her wrong.

To Joel Schroeder in grade 6 for telling me that acid-washed jeans were a thing of the past.

To Aaron Cerrato and Mark England in grade four for my first fist fight in elementary school.

To Colin Cousin in grade 6 for throwing the baseball so wildly to first base that I scored a home-run-bunt!

To Ann Fayn, first girl I ever danced with at a school party.

To Ms. Lindsey in grades 2 and 3 who knew just how to handle the situation every time I had a nose bleed.

To my sister Gurjit, who taught me how to tie a shoe, and how to speak my mind.

To Patrick McDonald, for showing me that regular yard fencing is susceptible to headbutts.

To Geoff Oleschuk, teaching me that you don't need a vehicle to haul a trailer to the corner store.

To Ben Oleschuk, having the balls to fight for my country when I'm too chickenshit to do so.

To an evening at the Wiens residence, much better than any episode of Trailer Park Boys.

To Shaun Alford, closest thing I've got to a brother.

To my mom, teaching me to never give up.

To Xuan-Thy, for having a more messed up name than I have.

To Heather, best person to spend my days with.

To Mike, showing that there's no reason to stress over the most trivial of things.

To Justin Salon, making sure I'm still smiling.

To Justin Blanchet, for setting goals and actually achieving them.

To Ken, for traveling across the US to find himself and not caring whether he would or wouldn't.

To my sister Ranbir, who taught me that the impact of a good joke doesn't just lie in the punch line, but in how you tell it

To Mark, even though we rarely hang out, the times we do are profound.

To Justin Sundset, the best party host around, and the fact that I have three friends named Justin.

To Sunny Ahluwalia, the anonymous poster to my blogs and probably the only brown guy who reads them.

To the end digit on my right thumb, for still functioning, even though I've had no feeling in it for the last 22 years.

To my nephews Rohaan and Kabir, the only two people in the world that I would kill a spider for, if I had to.

To the Chicago Bears, giving me reason to cheer when my Flyers play like a bunch of sucky-sucks.

To my sister Parm, who taught me how to read the hands of a clock and tell time, and how to punch with my thumb on the outside of my fist.

To my dad, teaching me to never underestimate the power of "old-man" toughness.

To my big toe on my right foot, for healing properly after surgery.

To those who read this blog, giving me reason to write.