Happy Father's Day

Today is Father's Day. I did not get my own father a single thing, not even a card. I had every intention to get him a card, but then forgot about it when I was doing my shopping. My dad was not offended in the slightest by this because he told me he didn't want anything, and he knows my stance on cards. The fact he didn't expect anything actually speaks as testament to my dad. He knows that currently I'm living paycheck to paycheck. He knows I'm trying to save money so really by him excusing me from spending money on him, when really he does deserve it, exemplifies many traits of my father that I look up to.

In short, my dad is, has been, and always will be a fantastic father. I really couldn't ask for anything more from him, if anything, he's done too much for me. When I had to move and had no money for first and last month's rent plus deposit he provided it. When my car broke down (semi his fault, okay not even close) he helped me out then too. Last year when my bike frame cracked and I called him up in near tears he took me around the next day frame hunting and then graciously paid for the frame. These examples don't just mean to highlight the fact that he's helped me out financially throughout the years, but that whenever asked he's there to help me. He's given me enduring support growing up; he's been the very definition of a good, involved father; like a real life Danny Tanner.

Some scenes that I think about when I think of my dad:

Him and I grocery shopping on Saturday mornings at what I believe was WinCo that had this insane soda dispensing wall. He always let me choose the sodas for the week. He also during one of these trips corrected me and told me that I'm never to say "son of a bitch," but rather, "son of a gun" will do just as well. I still never to this day say "son of a bitch" it is always "son of a gun."

When I would awake in the middle of the night with intense abominable cramping and then hellacious diarrhea he would sit up with me in his underwear on the edge of the tub for hours trying console me. There really isn't much you can do when your kid is shitting for 3 hours, but he was there trying to make things better.

He came to every soccer game he could make it to. He never once yelled at me, the coach, or anyone. He stood there silently and watched the action. The one time he talked to me while a game was in progress was when I had been subbed out and he saw me sitting on the sideline. He took me aside and said that sitting was no way to make it look like I wanted back in the game and that I should stand and follow the coach around. I did so for very single game from there on, I played a lot more because of it.

I puked up Tang in the back of his van. He was mad for like three seconds.

He never once talked down to me or altered his word choice. If I didn't understand I had to ask what a word meant. This probably helped me develop the 6th grade vocabulary I currently enjoy, much better than the 2nd grade one I would have had otherwise.


I could go on, but does anyone else really want to read dumb vignettes from my childhood? Do I want to make this 10,000 words when a new epside of Harpers Island is waiting to be watched? I'll just finish this off by saying that while it hasn't always been fun and games, he is a hardass after all and I was a royal pain in the ass for a long, long time, I couldn't ask for more or better from him. If I can be like 80% of the father he was to me, my kid will be the luckiest kid in the world because I truly feel like the luckiest kid in the world having my father be my father.

Shoot, now I better do one of these more my mom otherwise she's going to be mad at me. Hey, Mother's Day is only like 11 months from now.