my Dad

I like how I call my dad - usually for some actual purpose, to ask a question or check on something, etc. - and we end up wasting an hour talking. Well, I mean, it's not wasting, really, because honestly, I love every minute of it.

My dad and I have a pretty special relationship, I think. It's not that I'm not close with my mom - because I really am. Especially moreso now that I've gotten older. But my dad has always kind of been my "buddy." We have nearly identical personalities, so we relate to each other really well. When I was little, we'd be fooling around at the dinner table, being just generally ridiculous and really, incredibly entertaining to ourselves. My mom would just watch us and sigh. Poor woman. Once, at some party they were at, one of his friends came up to her with an incredibly straight face and asked, with concern "So, Ann, how is it going, raising two kids all on your own?" My dad thinks this is hilarious and loves repeating it.

When I younger, we spent a lot of time together. I remember always looking forward to the days he'd pick me up from school/daycare - he'd usually have something "special" planned. These things ranged from a trip to the pool, to a Slurpee from 7-11, to playing cards back at the house. Looking back on it, I guess they weren't, like huge things - but they were always a huge deal to me and I remember always being so excited. To some extent, maybe I was a little spoiled by him, but I don't think that it changed me at all - I truly loved and appreciated all of our time together and anything he did for me.

As I got older, one of the main things we did together was sports. He started coaching my first softball team... and just kind of never stopped coaching, at least until about middle school when he got a new job and didn't have as much time. He really loved coaching, not just because of the time we'd spend together practicing and playing together, but because it basically gave him the opportunity to play dad to a team full of girls. I don't know if my dad is remarkable in any other ways, as much as I love him - but one thing he really has down is the "dad" thing. He could write a book on it. Seriously. (Well, actually, my parents have actually done that... yes, it's called Bringing Up Baby after that movie, yes, it's published, and yes still kind of I'm embarrassed to talk about that chronicle of my first months of life.)

Anyway, softball was really "our thing." I was actually pretty good at it. We'd strategize together after games, debrief of the things we did really well and the things we'd work together on fixing for the next game, discuss the possibilities of playing different people in different positions, etc. When I stopped playing after sophomore year of high school (too much team drama, not enough fun - and I had a job that I would have had to quit to play again, and it wasn't worth it), he was crushed. He tried really hard not to let it get to me, because even though it was my decision, I wasn't happy about not playing and missed it a lot. But he took to watching womens' softball on TV a lot and trying to get me to come in and "watch that girl (... I mean, I'm sorry - she's a young woman... they just seem so young to me...) pitch!" with him.

One of the other things we really bonded over was the shelter. When I was 11 and started volunteering, "parents had to accompany volunteers under 16 years of age." I don't think I understood at the time how much they must have really loved me - because either one of them (more my dad toward the end) would be up 7am, every Sunday, not only to drive me to my destination, but to spend the next 4 hours helping me scrub litter pans and scoop yards. Yeah... Wow. Luckily, by the time I was 12, the Director waived that rule on me, deciding that I was "actually, probably more responsible than most of the adults that come in here..." But even though we weren't working together any more, we still had those 25 minute car rides, up and back, every weekend. (Actually, between that and my transferring schools the next year, I spent quite a lot of time in the car with my parents, all tolled.) My dad and I had some of our best conversations in the car. We'd talk about everything - politics, religion, school, work... really, whatever happened to come up. I looked forward to that time with him. He always gave me really good advice when I needed it, and I loved hearing his opinions on things.

Probably my favorite story, that tells you a lot about him is this one: It was on one of these trips, I think, and we were talking about dating. I was almost 14, I think - right around that age where you start dating, you know. And he had always joked about terrorizing any boy that I brought home - buying a shotgun or something and polishing it when he came to pick me up. Or handing him a bullet with his name on it. You know, those outrageous things that dads tell their daughters... and that I've heard some are actually serious about. Anyway, he gets all serious after his usual goofing off and says, "No, but seriously. I want you to know that I'll be happy with whoever you bring home, when that eventually happens. I'll treat him with respect and do my best to make him feel comfortable in our house. I won't embarrass you, I promise." Then, he pauses, and I swear, you could almost see the wheels turning. And he starts again "And I mean, um, also, I really do mean whoever you bring home. You know, if it's a girl or something... um, that's really absolutely ok, too. I just want you to be happy..." It was just really adorable because you could tell that he didn't quite know how to navigate that possibility, but that he really wanted to try. Because it really doesn't matter to him. Whenever we talk about these issues, his standard line is: "I mean, I don't care. Really, this life is hard enough. If you find someone you love, great. It doesn't matter who that person is. People should do what they want." (He's a conservative, by the way.) Of course, as a young teenager, I was super awkward about the topic of dating, let alone dating girls (because being different in anywaywhatsoever is terrifying at that age, of course)... so I didn't fully appreciate it until later on. (And he's true to his word, I should add. When I recently told him that I wasn't sure about my feelings for another woman, he barely blinked, and actually admitted - apparently from the way I've talked about her - "Yeah, I kind of wondered.")

I know it hasn't been easy on him, me being away from home and at school. Especially lately, since he hasn't had a job - and people just aren't hiring, no matter how many times he's sent out his resume. (He worked in real estate, and that market is still shot - so it's really not his fault, which is what I keep telling him.) We've been talking more than usual because he's been helping me with "the rugby calendar"... which you should all eagerly await, as it's coming out REALLY SOON. (I'll save more on that for another time, though.) Also, I love that he gets rugby. He played in college, and I can tell that he's thrilled that I play. He comes up pretty frequently to watch our games, since we don't live that far away and he usually vaguely "has things for me." (Which turn out to be my mother sending random things that I love. Last time, I received childrens' apple juices, ramen fake-chicken soup and pair of ridiculous green rain clogs that a friend and I discovered make FLATULENCE sounds when you wear them without socks. Yes, we are 8-year-old boys. Go ahead, judge us. We had too much fun with them.) Recently, I panicked because I was starting in a game in a position I wasn't familiar with and he drove to an away game in (at least it was in New Jersey) to come watch me play.

Anyway, today we managed to talk for almost an hour (when I really should have been doing work, but whatever - he's more important)... and he's probably coming up this weekend for the game. I'm pleased.