Sep 27, 2015

For You, Dad.

September 29th,  1951 - April 10th, 2015

My dad was the first man I ever loved, and if Match.com, Tinder, Plenty of Fish, and OK Cupid can't get their shit together, he'll be the fucking last.

You'll be shocked to learn that this post isn't about dating or love and I'm keeping it super brief. Well, actually it is about love. Love in the purest form, and not the vulgar "I've just had a good dicking" kind of way I normally write about. It's about love for my dad who would have been celebrating his 64th birthday this coming Tuesday.  And if you knew this stubborn, loud, boisterous Scotsman, you'll believe me when I tell you that he entered the world as fiercely as he left it on April 10th, 2015.

Ah, that date. Even writing it makes me nauseated. I could sit here and write all about how I haven't been the same since, or how some days I can't wait to finish work so I can come home, lay in my bed and cry, or how badly I want to hear his voice just one more time, even if that voice is telling me I owe him money and my hair is a fucking mess. (He never missed an opportunity to tell me I'm failing at life).  But I won't. I guess you could say this post is more for myself than it is for anyone else, and I debated whether or not I should do it but I wanted to share something with my family and friends so they too could quietly celebrate his life as well. So that being said, if you haven't stopped reading yet, this post isn't littered with dick jokes and my love for Nutella but that will resume eventually. Just whatever you do, don't go questioning my love for penises and Nutella- it's still as intense as always.

Loving someone who struggled with addiction certainly posed its challenges over the years, But I wouldn't change any of it because it made me who I am and in a bit of a morbid way, I thank him for that. It's taught me to have more compassion for those in need and its taught me to take life's shittiest moments and find the humour and hold on to it (Except for on Sundays. I hate Sundays and nothing is funny ). And most importantly, its taught me to be a better friend and value anyone and everyone
I'm fortunate enough to have in my life.

But, despite the ups and downs, I knew he loved me...even when he shouldn't.

  • He loved me even when he found his 25 year old daughter face down and pant-less in the hallway covered in mustard one morning - I TOLD YOU I LOVE HOT DOGS
  • He loved me even after the time my robe opened when I was walking from the shower and he saw my cooter. (I actually only started looking him in the eye approximately 5 years after the great cooter incident of 2008).
  • He loved me even though the day after prom he watched me reverse our big blue van into a giant fucking tree at the end of the driveway and take off the whole rear view mirror and dent the door. .
  • He loved me even though I'm a walking disaster and he had to fork over his hard earned money for my casts, crutches, and ambulance fees for a solid 33 years of my life.
  • He loved me despite the fact I could somehow use the word "fuck" about 700 times in a 30 second conversation.
  • He loved me even when I was that annoying little girl who walked around the house singing show tunes in my mom's fur coat, while smoking those fake candy cigarettes. 
  • He loved me even though he knew his little perverted 16 year old daughter was watching scrambled porn in her room....nightly. Man, they don't make porn like they used to
  • He loved me even when I made him this touching apron for Father's Day one year when I was in high school:

33 years wasn't enough time, but I'm forever thankful of the time I had and for having him as a father. Dancing in the kitchen will never be the same.


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