I married my Dad. Well, not really (of course) , but the similarities between these two wonderful men are scary, people. Even they’ve noticed it. But what can you say? They both love me (and even weirder - they both understand me).

My father was a cop for 32 years. …After serving in the Marine Corps in Okinawa. He didn’t see me until I was 6 months old - his older daughter. But man, oh man, did he get pictures. Mom and I lived with my grandparents while he was gone. My Aunt and Uncle lived there as well. There were photographers falling over themselves to get more and more shots to send overseas.

When he returned, I peed on him. (Well, that’s the story he tells anyway). I was also obviously his daughter - I have the nose to prove it - but I’ll always be someone that he doesn’t quite understand - or maybe he understands better than I’ll ever know.

I did well at school, focusing on Math and Science, because these were important subjects to him. When I left for college, with plans to become a Veterinarian, he was cheering me on. When I came home after Freshman year - with grades that proved just how much FUN college was (it was so not a pretty sight you all) - he got tough. When he found out that I came home that summer as a (ehem) non-virginal daughter, he stopped speaking to me - and made sure that I had no money to go back to school.

I disappointed him several times that next year. After selling my horse to buy a car, getting a job, and returning to school locally, he found out that I hadn’t given up that boyfriend and was seeing him on the sly. (Hey, don’t tell me I can’t.) When I tried to move out to go live with a girlfriend, he got out an ax and threatened to slice the tires on my car. (He would have done it, too.)

So, he watched and waited with me while I grew up. He stopped telling me I couldn’t go out with the virginity-taking boyfriend. He stood with me at the end of the aisle in the church, trying to make me laugh (this Muslim father, standing in a Catholic church, telling his oldest daughter “Remember, when you get to the end where that guy on the cross has his arms out? He’s telling you, “Stop”. That’s where you need to stop.”).

He watched me move South with that boyfriend who was now my husband. He visited. And when that marriage crumbled and I moved out, and got divorced, he never said “I told you so.” He held his tongue when I told him that I only married the boyfriend because he told me I couldn’t.

He watched while I went back to school again for another degree. He watched when I met Mr. Hot - that southern boy charm won me over - and when I became pregnant with Shortman, he came visit. When Mr. Hot and I got married, he was the first one to call me by my new name. When my water broke in the middle of the night, and I called to tell him and Mom that they’d have a new grandbaby later that evening, he drove six hours - and very nearly beat us to the hospital (I needed to go shopping - there wasn’t any food in the house, and contractions weren’t too bad at the time).

When Shortman was born, he was in the room, and when the Dr. put that baby in my arms, my Dad was there to say a prayer into that baby’s ear. Fifteen years later, my Dad is one of that baby’s biggest fans.

Now, when the 3 of us get together with Dadandmom, my mother and I laugh at how much these men are alike. One in his sixties, one in his fifties, and one only 15. But they have the same insane passion for news, the same smartass know-it-all attitude, and the same unending love for family and friends. Of course, our love for them is boundless as well.

—- Happy Father’s Day to you Dad, and to you Mr. Hot. I love you both more than I can ever say. —-

Trackback URI | Comments RSS