Happy Father's Day!

I should have done this yesterday, but I hope late is better than never.

My brother wrote a Father's Day tribute yesterday that inspired me. His tribute also made me feel better about the part where even though I gimped out a little bit this year on a Father's Day present, I never required my dad to go to court with me over juvenile arson charges. So, you know, that's something.

I have two stories to tell. Ahem.

Story #1: How I Knew My Father Really Loved Me

When I was about 7 and we lived in Germany, my mom went out of town and left my dad in charge of us. He packed my lunch for what may have been the first time. It consisted of a ham & cheese sandwich on these tasty Brochen rolls we'd get at the Commissary. (This was before the phase where I would only eat bagels & cream cheese with my lunch. It was the only way to get my cream cheese quota up where it needed to be. And no, let's not talk about my cholesterol.) Anyway, I ate my lunch, came home, and threw it up in a trail down the hallway, leading to the bathroom.

That night Dad put me to bed and set a small trash can next to my bed. He explained that if I woke up feeling sick, I was to lean over calmly, vomit into the trash can, and then call for him and he will come downstairs and take care of it.

So a few hours after falling asleep I woke up, vomited my beef broth calmly into the bin, and called for my dad. Thing is, I was still leaning upside down over the trash can, which doesn't help with breath support. So when I finally got out the "Daddy" it sounded a bit like this:

"D--Da--DAD-DEEEEEEEEEEHHHH!!!!!!"

About .3 seconds later I heard this above my head.

THUD.

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD

THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD

As I listened to him race down the stairs, I thought, "Huh. Maybe I shouldn't have sounded quite so alarmed."

He appeared at my bedroom door, backlit by the hall light and breathing heavily.

Dad: What?? What is it??

Me [weakly]: Um . . . I threw up.

Dad: Oh. [pause] Okay.

So yeah, it's good that I wasn't shrieking because I was being dragged away by kidnappers who planned to sell my organs, but it really made me feel good to know that if I were then my dad would have cared. And he totally would have saved me.

Story #2: How Dad Taught Me to Face Life's Challenges

When I was in kindergarten I rode the bus to school. There was a bigger (like, 1st grade) kid at the bus stop who one day picked me up by the collar of my pink shirt and threatened me. I went home and told my mom. She told my dad, and he took me upstairs to teach me what to do if it happened again.

I was expecting something like, "You run home and you tell your mom. She will call me at work, and I will drop everything and come over and throw that kid in traffic." Instead, he sat me down and taught me how to make a fist. He explained why the thumb goes on the outside rather than on the inside of the fist. I think this was more to do with the principle of the thing rather than out of fear that I would ever hit anything hard enough to break my thumb. We then discussed the Adam's Apple, and the sort of target it makes.

Dad: So if that boy messes with you again, you make this fist like I taught you and you go for the throat. While he's choking you can run home.

Words to live by, friends. Thanks, Dad!

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