I love my daddy.
My parents divorced when I was pretty young, so I spent every other weekend with my dad. Those weekends were the best. Every Friday night, he would take my brother and me to Books-A-Million, and he and my brother would read magazines while I rolled around on the floor of the young adult section reading Sweet Valley High and Baby-Sitters Club books. After we left B-A-M, we would go to Waffle House, where the waitresses all knew my dad because he ate there so often. When we got home, we would watch TGIF (does anybody else remember that?). Saturday nights were always, always devoted to SNICK, especially my all-time favorite show, Are You Afraid of the Dark? My dad let my brother and me rule the radio and the television on those precious weekends, and I feel like they went by all too soon.
After my mother died, I moved in with my dad, stepmom, and sister. I rolled into my rebellious years, and I have to say I am ashamed of the way I acted. Dear goodness. I know every teenager goes through a phase, but I do not like to remember mine. (For the record, I didn’t get arrested or do drugs. I was just a little brat, and thought very little about anybody but myself.)
Thankfully, we got through that, and my dad still loves me. We share a love for chips and salsa, good music, and Sons of Anarchy. My dad is the one who introduced me to great literature (yes, I do read something besides Baby-sitters Club and Sweet Valley High), and probably inspired my decision to major in English at the W. I love my dad more than words can say, and I miss him terribly. I am hoping David and I can go and visit my family very soon.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!