Monday, June 21, 2010
Happy Farter’s Day
When I was 12, Dad took me on a father-son hike/camping trip to the Chocolate Lakes in the Sierras, where I was the only girl among six guys; a treasured memory of our father-son times together. When you don’t have a son to take, it made perfect sense to take his daughter. No way he was going to miss a dude’s weekend away, even if there were kids there. When I was twelve he let me try one of his cigarettes and I just about gagged by the horrible smell and bad feeling after one puff. Thanks to that experience, cigarettes turned me off. He is wise without even trying to be.
I remember Dad coming home from work in his blue shorts, t-shirt and long white socks, standing in the kitchen and without hesitation lift one leg with his hand in gun mode and, well, you get the rest. At ten years old, THIS was some funny stuff and as I write this there is a smile on my face, so it could not have been as bad as it sounds. On most days though, Miss Piggy and I (Cutie-Pie wasn’t born yet) would each sit on one of his feet, hang onto a knee and he’d walk us around the house making Big Foot sounds while we cracked up! We looked forward to Dad walking in the door at the end of the day and even though he was exhausted from the physical work he did at his precision sheet metal manufacturing business, he always made time to play with us immediately upon walking in the door.
Happy Farter’s day dad, I love you!