Father's day

It’s almost Father’s Day.  Have you hugged your dad lately?

I adore my dad.  He’s absolutely amazing, especially considering he’s not even biologically related to me and yet still put up with all my contentious teenage years.  Like when I stole his Isuzu Trooper.  At 2-ish in the morning.  Just to drive to my boyfriend’s house.  I had to have it towed home because I’d fried the engine (by magic!).  I even asked the tow truck driver to back it into the driveway, because that’s how he would park it, in hopes that he’d never know (the tow truck driver refused).  It turned out to just be the starter, but still.  I stole his truck.

And that very first time I ever drank alcohol and, of course, consumed my weight in booze via an always full Big Gulp cup-o-margarita, then had to go home.  After tossing me into a cold shower in an attempt to sober me up, he threw me in the back of that very same Isuzu Trooper to take me to the hospital.  Just before he closed the rear doors he said to me “Don’t fall over.  Stay sitting up or you’ll hit your head on the wheel well.”  Door closes, I slam my head on the wheel well and wake up in the emergency room.  I would have disowned myself.

He’s seen me dye my hair every color, watched me go from an extremist tom-boy to a high-heel wearing girly.  Taught me how an internal combustion engine works, complete with diagrams and helped me not only excel at physics, but appreciate it.  Explained the benefits of a biscuited joint, how to take accurate measurements, let me run the commercial table saw without hovering, indulged my woodworking appetite and walked me through numerous car repairs, including replacing an alternator.  I’d come up with crazy ideas (Hey dad!  Why don’t we take some drywall, wet it down, mould it into an arch and hang it above the shower for an arched shower entrance!) and he’d always try it out – that arch thing worked by the way, it’s awesome. 

And my dad never wanted to have kids.  Yet he was as great as a father could be.  Once he took me to the store 4 different times for toothpaste because I kept telling him they were the wrong kind.  I was (still am) such a brat.

Despite all the great things my dad’s done for me or my crazy acts he had to deal with, I don’t get my dad anything for Father’s day.  He’s just not one of those dads.  I used to get him fancy tools every year, but his workshop is so big and so full of stuff and he’s so not an organizer that I was just adding to the mess.  There are only so many ratchet sets a man can use.  Or lathing tools.  Or table saw blades.  Now I make him food instead of gifts.  I know he’d rather hang around and eat my food than get a mailed Home Depot gift certificate anyways.  Or at least that’s what I tell myself. 

I’d never tell my dad how much I appreciate all the stuff he’s done for me.  We aren’t emotional people, my dad and I.  In fact, we never even hugged before he’d married his wife, which was about 3 years ago.  And I’ve known him my whole entire life!  Emotional feelings stuff is just awkward and he knows and I know so it’s all gravy.  And I’d probably cry and blubber and get all red faced and sobby while trying to tell him how great he is.  I’m a little choked up right now.

And it’s almost Father’s day.  I’m so glad I have a great dad to celebrate.