At 38-years-old I still call my Dad when something goes wrong. Whether it be a broken faucet or a drained car battery my Dad comes to the rescue. He may bitch to my Mom, but never complains to me. He lifts me up when I am down. I’m speaking figuratively. He would need some juice from A-Rod in order to pick up these thunder thighs. Seriously, I would be lost without him. He taught me to cook, use tools and is the reason I talk so damn much. He can have an hour long conversation with a stranger at the supermarket.
My Dad has always put his kids first. Growing up he worked two jobs to provide for our family. He never complained. I did. I was a child who couldn’t see beyond my own shadow.
Basically, I was Nellie Oleson in a Michael Jackson concert t-shirt.
I may still be a bitch, but I look at my Dad differently now. I appreciate everything he does. Well, I don’t particularly enjoy being lectured when I discipline my kids, but alas. I guess it’s not the end of the world if they use wire hangers. My father loves his grandchildren unconditionally. He would do anything for them. I hope they realize it a lot sooner than I did.