My dad runs. Every day, he runs. He doesn’t really talk about it; he just does it. He wears microscopic booty shorts while doing so, but he’s good enough that he totally rocks the look.
My dad is a creature of habit. Every night he packs the same lunch: four kaiser buns the size of his head, two smeared with honey, the others with Cheez Whiz. He eats two at 10 am, then runs on a track all through his lunch break, and polishes off the remaining buns at 2 pm. He works hard all day at his desk, then takes the bus home. When he comes home he eats a banana, then slowly munches his way through a plate of salad greens, no dressing, before he digs into his dinner. He’s a picky eater, surgically removing any shards of onions or green peppers that might have been slipped into his casserole.
He is a slow walker. When it’s raining he wears a geeky poncho that looks like a saran wrap toga. He is a writer. He is amazing at Balderdash. He likes curling. He rarely smiles for photos. He has the best laugh.
He is a mathematical genius and is the only reason I didn’t fail high my school math class. He was the best softball coach the world has ever seen. He taught me how to not throw like a girl. He read to me every night when I was little.
He taught me how to drive and told me that boys only wanted one thing.
Every time we’ve had a baby he’s driven across the country and held them for their first few days of life. He prays for me every day.
He is wise and his advice is sound.
He loves my mom with an unconditional love, and their marriage is built on steady and mutual respect. But one time he tape-recorded her snoring and I don’t know if she’s forgiven him yet.
He has this little glass for milk that he’s used every night for twenty years.
I have learned so much from watching him run: the power of quiet commitment, the strength in humility, the determination to succeed.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I am the luckiest daughter there ever was.
At the risk of sounding like I am stealing the words of your other commenters: Absolutely BEAUTIFUL, Amanda.
I lost my dad before I was old enough to know or remember him but if I could dream of what he would have been like, it would be exactly like your dad. I would also pray to be a daughter like you, who recognizes such a beautiful relationship.
Definitely one of my favorite posts. Hooray for amazing dads!
That was beautiful; brought a tear to my eye. Your Dad must be so proud of you 🙂
“how” (Sheesh.)
Oh, low lovely, Amanda… I’ll bet your dad feels pretty lucky too!!
What an amazing post – I love it. I love the dad quirks that make them yours. He sounds awesome – Happy Father’s Day!
this post is awesome. only makes me miss my dad more. i’m glad that i married a man, who strives to be this kind of dad. thanks for sharing 🙂 ps-love that i see a baby arm wrapped tightly around your neck…great pic of you two!
Love this. I lost my dad 17 years ago. I think I miss all the laughs, bear hugs and ear to ear smiles most of all. your dad sounds awesome.
My new favorite post you’ve ever written.
And your dad does have the best laugh ever.
LOVE this. Your dad is awesome. As are you.