Today is my dad’s birthday. He is now officially older than dirt.
Kidding!
Actually, I had a customer in the other day who described herself as such and was born in the same year as him. I figured that it was apt to mention such a thing on his birthday seeing as how since my sisters and I were young my dad has tried to ingrain in our heads the idea that he is too ‘old for that’. That being playing tag or visiting the beach or whatever event he wanted to get out of.
He taught us many other important lessons. I attribute my magpie skills to his careful placement of delicious drinks and cookies in random hiding places. Also, we learned via observation the power of the puppy look. Works wonders on my mom. Also, on us too. That was how he’d get out of playing tag. ;P
But one lesson that he imparted upon me, I’m not sure whether he really wanted me to be paying attention to or whether it was one of those things that you say in conversation and is later quoted by others. Then you look at it later and agree that yes you said it but had no idea that someone would pay so much attention to it.
That advice to me was imparted while we were standing in the hallway and he was doing laundry. He told me that when I found a man I liked, to make sure he’d do my laundry and wash dishes because men like that are hard to find. Being the lazy sort, I figured that was a perfect way to filter out menfolk and a way of ensuring that I did not end up the domestic diva of the relationship. Sage advice. I filed it away in my brain for future use and returned to playing on the computer.
I don’t know if I ever told my dad, but I subjected Andy to this method of testing and within the first few days of him hanging around my place he was washing my dishes and hauling my laundry basket from my place to the washer and dryer. Granted, I never made it known that it was a test, but the man likes to be helpful and that was one way that he did so. I also had him cooking me dinner but that’s more because my culinary skills at the time were limited to the George Foreman grill and whatever slab of meat could fit in there. Or what miracles I could work in the microwave (read: popcorn and Stouffers frozen dinners).
So thanks dad, for helping me filter out a lot of the crazy of this world. For teaching me to enjoy the company of people rather than presents (for every holiday you could ask what he’d want and his answer was always nothing, material goods weren’t his thing), for helping to foster my love of graphics creation by providing programs and internet access, for always being proud of my accomplishments, and for always believing in me even when my choices probably shook you down to your core.
I like to think that together, you and my mom did a nice job raising me without providing me with too much mental damage (the Godzilla night terrors aside which I’m willing to bet were mom’s idea anyway) and for always letting me know that there was a nest to fall in if my wings ever got too wet to carry. You never said it, but it was always understood. Thanks.
Also, please tell mom to stop texting me to get you something for your birthday. I know damn well what day of the year it is and it’s not one I’ll ever forget. I just know that if I got you something, you’d say that I should have spent the money on myself instead (or on that cute little grandson I’m cooking up for you).
FYI: I did actually. I bought two little 0-3 month long sleeved onesies on sale, one of which has Bambi on it and says ‘Little Dear’ and the other has a Dalmation on it and says ‘I’m a keeper’. I’d gift wrap them and send them to you but I get the feeling they wouldn’t fit you so well. Maybe the grandson instead. Pictures forthcoming several months from now (hopefully).
peace and love,
the latest chick to leave the nest
