June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day to the best Dad on the planet. If you think that's up for argument, then take a look at this:
It's a recap of my second grade Christmas vacation, and it says:
This past vacation it was Christmas. My favorite present was a dollhouse I got from my Dad. He built it himself and he said to me it was a lot of work, and I said I love it and I gave him a big hug and he said that there's 3,000 shingles on it. And I really do love it.
Did your Dad ever make you a dollhouse with 3,000 shingles for Christmas? Right, yeah, I didn't think so.
As I was sifting through my old journals today, trying to find something to post, I was really blown away by entry after entry after entry that said something like, "This weekend we went out on the boat," or "This weekend we went camping," or this weekend we went to see a show in New York," or "This weekend we tried to catch a fish."
When I was a kid, we somehow managed to have more fun every weekend than most kids have in an entire summer and get our backsides to church. I'm still scratching my head over how he pulled it all off.
My dad can build anything, fix anything, and figure out any mechanical thing in three to five seconds flat--no instructions required. He's built additions, kitchen cabinets, bird houses, old motors, decks, swing sets, and just about anything else you can imagine--in his own house, my sister's house, and in mine. When it comes to 'the way things work,' he is, by far, the smartest, most intuitive person I've ever met.
My Dad taught me how to play the drum set in sixth grade.
My Dad threatened to pull my bottom lip over the top of my head if I ever missed my curfew by four minutes ever again.
My Dad took me to Disney World three times when I was growing up.
My Dad bought me bagels every Sunday.
My Dad is nice to everyone.
Happy Father's Day, Dad! I sure do love you!