And another thing....

Is there a limit to how many blog posts you make in a day? I might be setting a new record. This is what happens when you don't blog DAILY. Yeesh.


Anyway, MY father decided to completely flip me out the other day by having something that "didn't look right" in his heart. Uh-huh. Anytime my mother just calls, out of the blue, I immediately ask her "What's wrong?" and she always gives me that same nervous laugh and tells me "Now, its nothing to worry about..." yeah, sure, Queen of Worrywarts. Please. Loooong story (and loooooooooong hospital visit for tests) short, they thought there was some blockage in his heart, but there isn't. *WHEW* Don't scare me like that, Dad!!!


So, after that little day of paranoia (where I went and cried in my car at lunch, because that is what us cool, calm, collected people do), I began reflecting on my father and our relationship in general. I'm always raving about my mother, but I've not once blogged about my father. Not cool. While my mother and I of course have a pretty tight bond, I don't NOT like my father. I love him very, very much. Even more now that I'm an adult. I appreciate the things he went through in his life. He has done some incredible things. My father came from a very poor family and didn't end up with a lot of formal education, and yet he's still done more than most college educated people I know today. He's owned his own A&W restaurant, worked the film booth at a movie theater, was part of the Jaycees, built an ENTIRE bridge, worked on the railroad, flown a plane, owned his own A/C-and heating business- one that he past on to my brother- travelled,owned almost one of every kind of vehicle imaginable at some point, and now, retired, has taught himself wood-working. The man is ridiculous, and if I end up living half the life he has, I will consider myself successful.

When I was little, I would sometimes go out and help him in his shop. He was always working on something, some little project. I would hold the tape measure, hand him tools, and he would let me snap the chalk line needed for when he went to cut a piece of wood. When he had his Corvette, in the summertime, we would take little drives, down to the lake, or even into town. When nothing else was on TV, we'd watch one of those old boxing matches. He'd pick a guy and I'd get the other guy and we'd give each other crap while the match went on. And every Christmas time, growing up, he and I would have one night that we would do all our Christmas shopping- for Mama and whomever else made our list. ; ) We'd go out for Chinese and then to the mall. I looked forward to that night all year long.

We give each other a lot of crap. Now when I call to talk on Sundays, Mama will hand him the phone and tell him to say hi, so he'll say "Hi, Bye" and pretend to hand the phone back to my mother. Then I call him an asshole and we all have a big laugh.


Point is, no matter how tight Mama and I are, and no matter how much she gets me, I still need my daddy. I always will. Mom doesn't give me hell like he does. She doesn't lecture me about politics like Dad does (auuuuugh). At the end of the day, I need and love them both. : )