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Happy Birthday to My Dad

Dear Daddy,

I know you rarely read my blog, which is probably for the best with all of my Guilt-Free 3’s and pictures of sexy men.  Your little girl doesn’t think like that, right?  🙂

I want to thank you for teaching me goofy words.
For teaching me to be strong.
For taking me to the dam so I could see a “waterfall.”
For driving me over the Michigan state line so that I could say I’d been out of Ohio.
For driving all the way back to Elyria to get me a dollhouse that I pouted about.
For letting me watch WWF wrestling with you.
For playing my Michael Jackson “BAD” record over and over and over…
For taking care of me, Pete and Momma.
For helping me sneak liquor into dry weddings.
For only laughing a little when that pheasant pecked me on the head.
For moving me to and from Ashland and North Carolina and Pennsylvania, and finally back to Ohio.
For helping me buy new cars.
For fixing all of my flat tires.
For putting up with the guys I dated.
For letting me draw you like I did in elementary school.
For not letting Mom kill me when I got a tattoo.
For driving me all over the place.
For letting me drive your car when I was 16.
For helping me get unlost even though I call you from Virginia and tell you what road I’m on.
For making me wooden blocks when I was little.
For welding my name into a piece of metal.
For keeping my picture in your toolbox.

I also want to tell you that you’re the best darn daddy there ever was, and that I will never forget everything you’ve done for me.

I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.  And I’m excited that I’ll be able to come home and share it with you!  This time last year, I was just starting my job (1 year at Foundation yesterday!), had just moved to a new place, and I wasn’t able to come home to see you.  But now I can!  So I’ll see you tonight!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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You’re Not MY Daddy-The Power of the Beard

When I was little, my father worked on the road.  Every week, he traveled from Ohio to Virginia and New York painting stripes on the roads.  I only saw him on the weekends. 

Oh but I looked forward to those weekends and all the treats they’d bring.  When he walked into the door, I’d run into his arms and nuzzle my face into his beard.  He always smelled like motor oil, paint, and Daddy.  And he always made sure to bring me something, so that I would be surrounded by gifts from him until he could hold me himself.

If he was in New York, he brought back what I called, “Booberry muffins from New Nork.”  And the stuffed animals!  Orange bears that said, “You are my sunshine…” across the belly.  Tiny gray elephants that I simply called “Phant” and slept with each night.  I stayed up with him all hours of the night long after Mom had gone to bed, and we watched cheesy wrestling shows and rooted for Hulk Hogan.

But he didn’t come home one time…a man without that beard that I loved to nuzzle came in, and I bolted for my purple bedroom.  I wedged myself between the wall and the bed, but I heard him coming.

“Hoot?  Where are you going, you little spring thing?” he called.  He thought I was playing.

But I was crying. 

“Come say hi to Daddy,” he said.

“You’re not my daddy!  My daddy has a beard!”

He chuckled and tried to tickle me out of my hiding spot, but I stayed and he eventually let me go.

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Lucky for me, my dad can grow a beard in just a few days.  I really didn’t think he was my daddy, and for years, I suffered from the guilt of pushing him away from me.  But he’ll always be my daddy.  🙂

Beards are powerful things.  They can dominate a person’s presence.  They can make someone recognizable…or unrecognizable.

I am fascinated with facial hair.  Let’s just hope I don’t ever grow any of my own.

BLIZZOW!  Happy Friday, all!  Cleveland Indians game tonight!  WOO HOO!

 
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Posted by on April 15, 2011 in When I Was Young

 

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Getting My Fur Done

So this is my new “fur” and  I like it a lot–so for one of the first times since I graduated, I took emo pictures of myself in my kitchen before work.  🙂

You’re wondering why the hell I’m calling it “fur,” right?  Well, I’m going to go ahead and blame this one of my father–who taught me to speak in the oddest accent/dialect/language that I’ve ever heard.

Just to give you few examples:

Otter-water. As in-As my father and I drove over the Sandusky River after a heavy rain, he looked at me and said, “Otter high!”

Fur-hair. As in-Hugging my father often resulted in him sneezing and saying, “Get your fur outta my face.”

Pawdles-hands. As in-Upon playing in the dirt and digging to China, my mother called us in for dinner, and my father said, “Wash your pawdles.”

Doogs and Poopies-dogs and puppies. As in-“Hey, Hoot.  That doog just had poopies.”

Noonles-noodles. As in-“You want noonles or rice?”

There are more, but I cannot remember them.  For now, thank you Daddy for teaching me to call it fur.  And then you Amanda for making it pretty!

Happy Friday!

 

 
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Posted by on March 4, 2011 in When I Was Young

 

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