My father, a self-proclaimed hippie and raging alcoholic until the day he met my gorgeous mother, wore a brown leisure suit and platform shoes to his wedding.  I forgive him for this offense, only because my mother wore a black, sparkly pantsuit.

ALERT: I’m about to get all personal up on this blog.  Something which few situations can pry out of me, my dad being one.  If you happen to be a man reading this- please take notes- because good or bad, you will be the most influential person in your daughter’s life.

I’m amazed my father had any sense at all when it came to raising a child.  He never had a father of his own.  His mother worked nights as a surgical nurse and they moved every two years.  He never had any family or friends around so his only example were some older cousins. Unfortunately.  These are the same cousins who introduced him to a variety of chemical substances at the age of 11 and convinced him that leaving home with no money to hitch-hike across country was a super good idea.  

I was born in a trailer park.  Does that mean I get to cry a river and say that I’ve had it a little worse than the rest of you?  Do I get to blame at least a few of my issues on that fact?  When my parents were married, my dad was making $6/hr, but they managed to save 50% of his income a month, with two kids and my mom not working.  This very fact could be the reason behind my seemingly low tolerance for strippers, or anyone who complains that they just can’t make it on a “regular” income.  It’s called: don’t buy things you can’t afford.  Revolutionary?   This is also where my Suze Ormond frugalness stems from, the kind which allows me  to be perfectly satisfied driving a ‘99 Saturn with a hole in the hood, that floods every time it rains. Especially last night.

Eventually, my dad started his own business and they saved enough money to purchase a charming, completely run-down and nearly un-liveable home in the country.  Ever since I can remember, my dad started work at 5am, came home, worked on the business til midnight, and spent every moment in between taking care of our land and learning how to remodel the house.  That’s right, learning.  Another concept long forgotten by the gentlemen of my generation.  But as busy as he was, trying to make a life for us, he always had time for any absurd request I might have.

Dad,

Thanks for sitting in my room every single night, while I rehashed my entire school day, complete with tearful confessions of snobby girls, mean boys, and despicable rumors.  And thanks for continuing to sit in my room every night, even when those confessions turned into eye-rolling  and the words “I’m fine. Goodnight.”   Thanks for never missing dinner and showing up to every event in my life even though I was excrutiatingly embarrassed of your presence.  Thanks for staying up til 3am to help me grasp Chemistry, which by the way, was a battle we should have surrendered long ago.  Thank you for not using your past as an excuse, but as motivation to be better. 

Thanks for putting me through private school, although I was nearly strangled by the high collars and absurd rules, at least I didn’t end up raped and lying in a ditch.   Thanks for teaching me that even though people may take advantage of your kindness, you should give it anyway.  Thanks for building me that sweet swing set, which was the envy of all my friends and equipped with a sandbox litterbox for the cats.  Thanks for working so hard so that I could have a mom waiting for me after school every day.  Thanks for being so awesome that my friends wanted to come over just to hang out with you.  Thanks for being an example of how a man should love his wife.  Thanks for dropping everything to come put air in my tires, or some other mundane task that I always seem to screw up.  Thanks for helping me crawl out of every mess I’ve made.  And there have been some big ones.  I mean, big.  But most of all, thanks for making me feel like I was the most amazing thing in the world even when I was terribly awkward and unfortunate looking.   I’ve been spared from so much because of the self-esteem that came from your unconditional support and love.  I’ve never felt like I needed anyone, or anything, to fulfill me. I’ve always thought I could do anything.  But really, it would have saved us both alot of stress if I hadn’t actually tried to. 

I almost feel like it’s been an unfair advantage, having you around.  But truth be told, you do look like a pencil with a frizzy top.

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