For some reason I went off the radar and found myself abandoning this blog. "That's just another excuse," which is something I'm sure you would respond saying. It is another excuse, so I'm going to take the time to write about the one person who has encouraged to me to write since I boasted about purchasing my very first journal.
Father's Day means more to me than buying you something generic that screams, "I'm not sure what my dad would want, but I guess every other guy on the block wears a tie so I'll go with that." Gross, I think I've maybe seen you wear a tie 5 times in my entire life. Father's Day on my end means 1) realizing everything you've done for me and 2) everything you mean to me. Today we don't have the opportunity to pick up where I would like. We can't get over one of my many lock-the-world-out tantrums by slipping notes underneath my door and reading your simple but heartfelt words, "I'm sorry, Sweets." We can't collect our coins, jump in your truck, fill up two tanks of gas, head to Dairy Queen, order the best spun (tipped upside down) shakes, proceed for the world's longest adventurous drive and head back home agreeing we just had the best date any one's ever had. You won't hear your phone at 2 am tonight with my voice on the other end crying, "Can you please come pick me up?"
Rather than focusing on what we can't have today or share because of our distance, I want to point out the many ways, even when separated by 532 miles, you have shown what it means to be the best Pops. I now know how to re-wire an electrical box, start a brand new lawnmower, cut off power to a burning outlet, wash and wax my car like a pro, know you'll find your favorite dinner at your mom's house, wish my arm could rest the way yours does outside my car window, store sunflower seeds like there is no tomorrow, toss aside the Sport section of the newspaper, spray some Pam after a rough day, spend an entire night looking up at the stars, prepare the best grilled cheese on the block, disregard expiration dates, love the power of a list or twenty, cup my hand and flow with the music, no rhythm no worries, send me around the world only to fly me back early, appreciate my critter corner, wish everyday was Halloween and without question/doubt know the one way to feel my best, say what I want and consider the world around me is to write. After a weekend stop at Claire's in the 4th grade, I brought home a pink and green fluffed up journal and ever since you've asked, "Did you write in your journal?"
One of these days I'm sending you all of my journals and you're going to realize how much of an impact you've had not only on the way I think, but what I'm thinking. You've been at the other end of a telephone (if not in person) for my entire life listening to me laugh, wipe my away my tears, question the unknown, cross my fingers for luck and consider the worst possible outcome; let me add this has never happened. My veins are filled with stress, but every morning you wish me the best for the day ahead and each night you send me off hoping for an even better tomorrow. My life has been challenged because you've pushed me. My questions have clearly been defined, shouted and stated because you've encouraged me to wonder what's next. Last but certainly not least, you've given me the drive to say what's on my mind because you've asked me to write it all down.
To the 7+ journals, 3 blogs, essays, application letters, thank yous and "I'm sorry" notes slipped underneath my door, where I have scribbled down about life, love, hurdles, achievements, lessons and pitfalls ... I simply can't thank you enough.
Pops, it all started when you gave me my first pen to accompany my first journal. I love you!
Happy Father's Day!