I fail. I really did have every intention of posting my Father's Day Top 9 list for you on Monday, like I mentioned. However, well...yeah, I procrastinated. And then, while watching David Letterman before bed I hear something quite disturbing. Turns out Time Magazine has stolen my idea.
How dare they!
My original idea for Father's Day weekend was to post a Top 9 list of my favorite TV/Movie Dads. However, according to David Letterman, (And yes, I do get my news from late night talk shows. Sue me.) Time Magazine has already had that idea and published it. Their list has 25 dads though. Anyone else feeling like my list might be slightly inadequate now?
Sadly, I feel like I should just scratch the whole project. Then again, there is something to be said for perseverance.
Instead, I think I may have a viable solution. Instead of my top 9 TV/Movie dads, I've decided to honor my own dad. And yes, this is partially out of guilt for not calling him on Sunday. That doesn't make it any less heartfelt.
I could make it into a Top 9 list for you, but that just doesn't seem to do justice to a man who still lets his almost 28 year old daughter call him "Daddy". A little background for you. My parents weren't married when I was surprisingly conceived, what with my mom only being 16 and everything. Since I don't actually remember my infant and toddler years, I have to trust what I'm told by my family members. However it happened, my mother left my dad when I was about two and married J, who then raised me as his own. I remember when I found out that J wasn't my dad. J and my mom sat me down and asked if I was okay with J adopting me. I was 10, maybe 11. Yeah, I was real qualified to make that decision. Anyway, shortly there after, J and my mother divorced. And against my mother's wishes, J introduced me to my biological father. I think I was 13 or 14 when I actually started to develop a relationship with my dad.
One of my favorite things about my dad is the fact that he's 6'5" or so and built like a solid wall. No matter how tall or grown up I've gotten, I can still run to him for a hug and instantly feel like a little girl again. Since I'm pretty sure I'm all done with growth spurts, I will always only come up to about his mid torso. And I'm completely fine with that. There's something about still being able to be engulfed by a hug from daddy that makes everything okay.
My dad, like most human beings, is not without his faults. No matter how much I love the man, sometimes I wonder how we could possibly share the same genes. I believe I once promised you that I would some day regale you with the tale of how my father made us the butt of a Jeff Foxworthy joke? Well hold on to your panties folks, that day has come.
I'm sure most of you know who Jeff Foxworthy is, or have at least heard some of his "You might be a Redneck if..." jokes. Well rewind to a hot summer night a few years ago. I'm sitting in my dad's living room watching TV with him and my step-brothers. The living room has a sliding glass door that opens onto the covered patio and in what I can only describe as oddly normal behavior, this door is the preferred method of entry...as opposed to the actual front door on the other side of the room. Anywho, since the sliding glass door gets the most use, the sliding screen door that's in place to keep the flies and such outside has gotten pretty banged up. On said evening, the screen door was actually not closing all of the way due to some defect that I've since forgotten. As I've mentioned, it was a hot summer night and thanks to the irrigation ditches in the fields that line my dad's property, the mosquitoes were out in full force. After maybe half an hour of slapping the annoying bugs away and mumbling under his breath about them, Dad had had enough. He gets up and announces that he's going to Wal-Mart for a solution.
We all eagerly await his return. Something about me seems to attract the blasted insects in droves. And I hate it so I'm probably the most eager to see what Dad's solution will be. He returns and proceeds to hang a bug zapper from a beam over the middle of the patio. He then comes inside, all puffed up like a proud peacock. He walks into the kitchen explaining to my step-mom how they were having a sale on the bug zappers and so he bought two of them. This seems to bring on a stroke of genius and he proceeds to remove the second zapper from the packaging and hang it from the middle of the living room ceiling. Yes folks, that's right...and that's not even the worst of it.
Very proud of his brilliance, Dad settles himself back into his easy chair to continue watching whatever movie we had been watching before the blasted bugs had become too much of a nuisance. After a few minutes and more than a few little "zap" noises from both outside and in, Dad looks over to C sitting on the couch next to me and says probably the most redneck thing I have ever heard him utter. (And that's saying something, trust me.)
"Hey, C, turn off the overhead light, huh? The zapper will be enough light."
Oh yes, you read that right. And before I can stop myself, I lean over to C and whisper, "You might be a Redneck if..." and we both dissolve into laughter.
"What's so damn funny?" asks Dad, but neither of us can stop laughing long enough to answer him. And so there you have it. If you have ever used a bug zapper as a lamp you just might be a Redneck.
Thanks Dad, for everything. For always being there for a hug and support when I need it. And if that fails, for always being able to make me laugh...even if you don't always know how you've done it. I love you and I hope you had a great Father's Day.
And a belated Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there, TV, movie or real-life. All us little girls couldn't do it without you!
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