I'm late on my Father's Day Wishes, but I'm late for most things so nobody is shocked, right?
And there are so many wonderful fathers in my life (Todd, his dad, and our brothers obviously included) but this year I want to talk about my own Dad.
The one I drove crazy for18 36+ years.
The one who taught me how to play softball and ride a bike and change the oil in my car.
The one who tells the best stories ever. Seriously. I don't care if I've heard them a million times before, I want to hear them again because he makes you feel like you were right there with him while he describes his own hilarious shenanigans. He weaves a tale better than I do almost anything.
And like his stories, Dad and I have many stories of our own; and honestly, some of those stories, I would like to erase. There are stories that make me wish I could build a time machine and go back to the nineties, re-stack my bangs, tight roll my jeans one more time, and do some things differently.
Our relationship through the adolescent years was not always smooth sailing; most likely due to the fact that we are very similar and stubborn, and people who are similar and stubborn sometimes use that stubbornness against one another similarly. (Read it again. It makes sense in my head.)
And sometimes when that stubborn daughter grows up, she realizes (and this pains me to admit) that he was probably actually right the majority of the time.
She realizes with the onset of adulthood and mothering her own children that she may have been an overly dramatic teenager who felt she could never live up to her older brother.....(even though nobody really expected her to.)
He may have been a dad who loved her anyways and just wanted her to do the best SHE could do.
(And maybe clean her room every once in awhile.)
(And tell the truth a little bit more.)
(And stop forging his signature on progress reports in classes she was failing.)
(And stop dropping the F-Bomb when she thought he wasn't listening.)
But anywho......we don't really need to unpack allmy her transgressions......
The point is we had our ups and downs.
But when the chips were down, he was there.
And I'm learning that's really what counts in life.
When I had jaw surgery and was drooling all over the place?
He made me the best coke floats in the history of coke floats.
When I was 17 and my heart was broken for the first time? Truly broken?
He sat with me on the porch at 3:00am while I cried and cried and cried.
When I got beat up in the seventh grade?
He parked himself outside of the principal's office and refused to leave until they had a chat.
When I didn't believe in myself? He got frustrated enough for the both of us and believed in me.
(and speaking of that, he always thought I should be a nurse.....it just took twenty years for me to realize he might, once again, be right.)
When we told him we wanted to adopt? He helped us out financially.
When Owen was in the hospital for five weeks? He postponed a major trip so Mom could come help me. He knew I needed her.
When I haven't seen my sister in forever and I'm going crazy? He offers frequent flier miles to send me out there.
He's been there for the violin recitals and the twenty billion cross country meets and the graduations and the births and all the big moments plus many of the little ones that make up all the inbetweens.
He's a quiet, witty, hard-working father. And while it once used to scare me how alike we are (minus the quiet part...obviously) I am now realizing how lucky I am because if I can be half the parent to my kids that he has been to me, they will be blessed.
And PS - he absolutely LOATHES any kind of attention whatsoever. So if he asks, somebody else wrote this public blog post.......
And there are so many wonderful fathers in my life (Todd, his dad, and our brothers obviously included) but this year I want to talk about my own Dad.
The one I drove crazy for
The one who taught me how to play softball and ride a bike and change the oil in my car.
The one who tells the best stories ever. Seriously. I don't care if I've heard them a million times before, I want to hear them again because he makes you feel like you were right there with him while he describes his own hilarious shenanigans. He weaves a tale better than I do almost anything.
And like his stories, Dad and I have many stories of our own; and honestly, some of those stories, I would like to erase. There are stories that make me wish I could build a time machine and go back to the nineties, re-stack my bangs, tight roll my jeans one more time, and do some things differently.
Our relationship through the adolescent years was not always smooth sailing; most likely due to the fact that we are very similar and stubborn, and people who are similar and stubborn sometimes use that stubbornness against one another similarly. (Read it again. It makes sense in my head.)
And sometimes when that stubborn daughter grows up, she realizes (and this pains me to admit) that he was probably actually right the majority of the time.
She realizes with the onset of adulthood and mothering her own children that she may have been an overly dramatic teenager who felt she could never live up to her older brother.....(even though nobody really expected her to.)
He may have been a dad who loved her anyways and just wanted her to do the best SHE could do.
(And maybe clean her room every once in awhile.)
(And tell the truth a little bit more.)
(And stop forging his signature on progress reports in classes she was failing.)
(And stop dropping the F-Bomb when she thought he wasn't listening.)
But anywho......we don't really need to unpack all
The point is we had our ups and downs.
But when the chips were down, he was there.
And I'm learning that's really what counts in life.
When I had jaw surgery and was drooling all over the place?
He made me the best coke floats in the history of coke floats.
When I was 17 and my heart was broken for the first time? Truly broken?
He sat with me on the porch at 3:00am while I cried and cried and cried.
When I got beat up in the seventh grade?
He parked himself outside of the principal's office and refused to leave until they had a chat.
When I didn't believe in myself? He got frustrated enough for the both of us and believed in me.
(and speaking of that, he always thought I should be a nurse.....it just took twenty years for me to realize he might, once again, be right.)
When we told him we wanted to adopt? He helped us out financially.
When Owen was in the hospital for five weeks? He postponed a major trip so Mom could come help me. He knew I needed her.
When I haven't seen my sister in forever and I'm going crazy? He offers frequent flier miles to send me out there.
He's been there for the violin recitals and the twenty billion cross country meets and the graduations and the births and all the big moments plus many of the little ones that make up all the inbetweens.
He's a quiet, witty, hard-working father. And while it once used to scare me how alike we are (minus the quiet part...obviously) I am now realizing how lucky I am because if I can be half the parent to my kids that he has been to me, they will be blessed.
And PS - he absolutely LOATHES any kind of attention whatsoever. So if he asks, somebody else wrote this public blog post.......
