I’m not in the mood to write a long, insightful post on how much America rocks due to a killer headache, but I will briefly say that I am very thankful to be an American. We frequently take our numerous freedoms for granted, and on Independence Day we remember just how lucky we are to live here. The following two pictures are from prior neighborhood 4th of July parties; I’ll update this post later if I take any tonight.
2002, with O and Len:
2003, with K, Little W, and O:
Most of this is reposted over from last year’s entry:
My dad is almost never home, as he goes on business trips frequently. He is not an open person; he hides his feelings until he bursts. He is impatient. He likes peace and quiet. He works too hard and too much. He can only grill things and barely knows how to turn on the stove. He is an electronics freak. He likes thunderstorms, but he is acutely aware of the radar at all times and to where the storm is headed next. He allows me to use his credit card to buy my Utz Salt & Vinegar chips from Pennsylvania, as well as Dean & Deluca pasta sauce. He wears shoes all the time around the house. He TiVos a whole bunch of news shows and never watches them all. He is not fond of our pets, but secretly, I think he loves Trixie.
He took me to Ireland twice in the past two years. I got to experience a country of which feels like a second home- amazing city, awesome shopping, beautiful parks. He worked while we were there, but not all the time. I still got to drag him along to use his credit card and get his opinion of clothes I’m sure he could care less about, but he smiles and nods along anyway.
My dad is not perfect. I remember when I was twelve, and his mom, my grandma, died. He came up to tell me that morning, while I was still in bed. He woke me up, and I had nothing to say so I hugged him, and he started crying. That was the first time I realized he was actually a person, not just my dad.
When I was fourteen, I brought a guy home. He totally freaked. We were watching movies in the media room with my brother, but when my brother left he came in and checked on me a zillion times. Then, when I was fifteen I brought another guy home, this one just a friend (Tyler, from previous entries.) We were on my computers in my room, and he called my mom to have her call me to see what we were doing. Obviously, he is not so good at dealing with the fact that I am growing up… a fact of which my therapist (the one that kicked me out) made me see.
He was disappointed that I decided to stay here and go to KU for college. I know he always had bigger plans for me, to go Ivy League and become an engineer like him, to be brilliant. But I can’t be someone I’m not, and I’m content with the choices I have made. He gradually sees that and lets go.
Happy Father’s Day all, and I love you Dad!
