Tag: Dad

A Different Sort of Father’s Day

“Any man can be a father.  It takes someone special to be a dad.”
– Anonymous

My Dad:

Taught me how to dance.

Taught me how to hunt and shoot.

Read to me throughout my childhood (starting with The Monster at the End of this Book and working up through The Hunchback of Notre Dame ).

Sent me letters and notes whenever he traveled all throughout my freshman year of university.  I got messages on hotel letterhead from the middle east and postcards from Germany.  I looked forward to those letters more than I did to buying new books!

Loves his family and has never, ever been hesitant to show it.

Dragged me up Saturday mornings to do chores.  I hated it.  I’m also planning on making my kids do the same because in retrospect, that’s when he taught me lessons about hard work and finishing jobs.

Unless physically out of the country, he was at every piano recital that I can remember.

Taught me how to drive.  He reduced me to terrified tears teaching me how to start a manual on a steep jungle road, but let me tell you, I can now drive anything!

Has answered every question I’ve ever asked and never brushed them off.

Is the best man I know.

When I was three or four, I gave my dad a little trinket and told him, “You’re the best dad I ever had!”  He must have chuckled a bit at that, but twenty years later he still has that trinket tucked away in the box with his father’s watch, cufflinks, and medals.  And he’s still the best dad I ever had.

Happy birthday, Dad.

Lys-Dexia

“Check and see the oven inside.”
“Something in the oven there is.”
“…wait, what?  What did I say?”
“Something along the lines of, ‘Do or do not, there is no try.’  Don’t worry, I speak C. fluently.”
“Go die.”
– C. and J.

I swear I have a speech problem, and not just Foot-In-Mouth disease (a tragic, incurable illness wherein the sufferer is constantly choking on their own stupidity and awkwardness).  I frequently speak in Spoonerisms.

Pictured: a Dad Face.

I blame Dad.  He has a bit of a goofy sense of humor, and one of the things he finds most funny is to switch up words.  Depending on how much sleep the siblings have had, our response to this can vary from a pity-chuckle to uproarious laughter.  So when Mika misbehaves and Dad sighs, “Dupid sog,” accompanied by a Dad Face, we will probably all find it pretty funny.

The irony is that I can’t make a Spoonerism off the top of my head the way Dad can.  But, without even trying, I CAN completely rearrange a sentence into one that utterly defies logic and grammar.  In fact, I do it quite regularly.

More’s the pity for me, J. is just as quick as my Dad in the comebacks.  Curses.