In an email conversation I recently had with my father he said, “Mom forwarded your blog and I read it yesterday and found it very interesting (as I do all your blogging). I did notice that Mother got a lot of solid PR and I was relegated to a comment in parenthesis. But I’m not offended. BLOG ON!”
For those of you who have the unique pleasure of knowing my dad, this is not at all a surprising comment. The man is quite funny, has quite a few opinions, and isn’t afraid to share them with you. He’s also incredibly kind-hearted, a tried and true caretaker, and secretly rather weird. My dad is nearly always perfectly coiffed, is a fantastic shopper and is also an athlete, a gardener, and a chef. He is a thousand more men than I could ever enumerate here. For Father’s Day, in this time of budgeting and constant online bank account balance checking (and because he’s really hard to buy gifts for) I am giving my Pop a blog post as a gift. I will regale you all with a few choice anecdotes that to me speak volumes about the man I’m lucky enough to call my dad.
The Fashionista: Dad is guy who likes to look good. Were I so bold, I might use that shocking word “metrosexual” to describe his style. He wears nice suits, usually goes the ever-so-new-wave “no tie, with top button undone” look, and has an excellent collection of shoes. Two of his three children inherited this trait. Mom’s also obsessed with shoes. We’re shoe people. He has great hair, always well styled, and he drives a flashy little sports car. The story that most comes to mind in relation to the fact that my dad is pretty fly follows below.
When my father was around my age, he had hair down to his shoulders. This is especially funny to me now that I am wearing my hair so short. He became a teacher and they wanted him to cut his hair. It was the 70s, and dad kind of looked like a hippy with those luscious long locks so the school told him he needed to hit the barbershop. My dad, ever the rebel, decided that instead of cutting his hair, he’d wear a shorthaired wig. So he hid his luscious long locks underneath A WIG during the day and got to have his long hair for nights and weekends. I have this wonderful mental image of the 3pm bell ringing and dad walking out to his motorcycle (yes, he had a few of those too), whipping off his wig, shaking out his hair, and driving home with the wind splaying his dark brown mane behind him. I apologize sincerely, father, if this is humiliating. But I find it hilarious.
The Underwear Salesman: My dad works for Hanesbrands and has done so for more than 30 years. Honestly, what exactly he does on a daily basis is a mystery to me, and I have always joked with him that he is, in fact, an underwear salesman. In very the very basic definition of that phrase, he is. The best part about this is that he’s a grown-ass man who has to discuss women’s intimates regularly.
Once we were on a trip to Philadelphia to see our family there, and I believe it must have been a day he had “taken as vacation” because he wasn’t at the office, but was still supposed to be available by phone should there be a hosiery emergency. He ended up having to be a part of a conference call. In the car. For nearly two hours, my mother drove, I sat in the backseat, and my dad, in the captain’s chair, spoke on the phone about bras and panties and their color designs. The call wasn’t supposed to be two hours, the meeting had various hiccups, and some d-bag in the office continually threw wrenches in the plans, so dad had to stay on the phone. I ended up taking a tally, because I could barely believe it: my dad said the words “bra” and “panties” over 50 times on the call. I HATE the word panties. I never say it, if I can avoid it. This man, in order to bring home the bacon, is perfectly willing to stay on a phone call for two hours during his vacation to discuss zebra-print panties. Give this guy a medal.
The Truth: (Hold your hats, I’m going to get sappy.) As time goes and everyone ages, my dad seems to only be getting sillier. Skyping with my parents is always a joy. During my time in the DR, he would draw a smiley face on his pointer finger, put it in front of the camera and refer to him as “Señor Dedo.” You can’t make this stuff up. His sense of humor is astounding. He also, for some strange reason, loves to watch documentaries about what I can only call the saddest topics ever. We’ve begun to refer to them as “DDDs,” Dad’s Depressing Documentaries, and my poor mom is forced to sit with him as Sarah McLachlan narrates the next über-awful subject. He loves to watch soccer, excuse me, football, on TV and shout and tear his hair along with the fans in the stands. He is such a brilliant mix of qualities that I fear I’m not even close to doing him justice.
There has never been anyone in the world as well taken care of as I am. My dad has been there for me in too many ways to count. When I step back to think of how I could possibly thank him, I’m overwhelmed because I know it will never be enough. I’m so much of the woman I am today because this man raised me and I am still lucky enough to have him as a guiding force in my life. This blog post isn’t nearly adequate, but I hope it’s given you all a small look into my number one hero. Dad hasn’t cured cancer, or rescued anyone from a burning building, but he’s saved me, many times. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, men live extraordinary or extraordinarily small lives, but what my dad has managed to do thus far is all that and more. Thank you, Daddy, for all you’ve given me and all you’ll continue to give me. I love you, endlessly.
Sweetie,
That’s the best blog ever written! What’s most interesting to me is I’m as proud of you as you appear to be of me. We got a mutual admiration society going on here. We should consider letting Mom join. We can talk about it and her this weekend. The other thing I’m most proud of is that what you told me here is a form of needed validation. It simply tells me that all the really important things I learned from my hero, my father, have been passed along in some measure. That makes me a very happy, proud and thankful man.
I love you!
P.S.
this nice gift if you cheap bastard
[…] Comments « Fathers Be Good To Your Daughters […]