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I need my dad today more than ever, and here are six reasons why:
1) He provides over-the-phone car diagnoses and therapy.
One little noise in my car leads me to believe that every noise it makes is suspect and therefore a problem. Has the blinker always clicked like that? Shouldn’t the gas pedal be on the left? Wait a second — have the hazard lights always been located there? Is that static I hear on the radio? That’s it. This car is totaled.
Thankfully, one quick call to my dad, and both a probable diagnosis is reached and my fears are eased.
Last week, for example, I successfully made it through the conversation with my pops about how I thought I heard something, and it turned out to be the sun shade for Sophie’s window. The shade was caught in the door and was banging the hell out of the roof. Problem solved.
2) He is expert at games and conversation starters.
We used to play this one game where he would walk up and say, “Which hand do you think is going to hit you?” One thing I learned: never, and I mean never, pick one. Whichever hand you choose will be incorrect, and you’ll end up looking like a dumb ass for falling for it.
Sometimes, if I don’t know what else to say to people when I run into them, I’ll ask them which hand they think is going to hit them. It helps me figure out who my kind of people are, and if they are not my kind, then they avoid me (requiring zero work on my part). Thanks, Dad.
3) He helps make me laugh when I hurt.
Most things in life can eventually be laughed at, but that doesn’t mean everyone is ready to do it at the same time. There have been some serious health-related issues with my folks in the last couple of years, yet the laughter has been a constant, save for when we needed to make room for tears.
When my mom was in the ICU with a ventilator and we visited her, she would try to communicate through sign language, and with everything she signed my dad said, “Yeah, your throat hurts? Sorry.”
At one point she rolled her eyes to me because that was totally not what she was saying. Let me tell you, there is nothing funnier than someone on a ventilator rolling her eyes in disgust.
Another time my dad had to get his spleen out. To make light of the situation, when my mom called to explain, she let me know that my dad would be getting his placenta removed in surgery. She kept a straight voice for three-quarters of the conversation while I decided how to explain to her she was wrong. Finally, she laughed.[/nextpage] [nextpage title=”Page 2″ ]
4) He reminds me how to manage physical pain.
My dad’s motto: If you are in physical pain, break a finger, and the first thing won’t matter.
5) He teaches me the importance of emergency preparedness.
We learned the hard way that my heart is in the right place, but when you offer to rush someone to the emergency room, it’s a must to have gas in your car. It’s embarrassing to have a sick person pump gas for you when they look so pathetic. (Sorry again, Pops.)
6) He is Papa to my kids.
I cannot describe the joy it brings me to watch my dad go from the dad who used to play “Which hand is going to hit you?”(now that I’m wiser, rematch?) and tell us that he would help us forget about the cut on our hands by breaking our toes (pretty sure that second toe of mine is freakishly long because of all the pulling and cracking) to the Papa who cannot tell his granddaughters “no.” The Papa who fusses over slivers, bumps, bruises, and every cry. The Papa who takes the cheap little plastic, high-heeled shoes and “safe guards” them with masking tape so that my don’t slip on the floor while playing dress-up, making the shoes so dang ugly in the process (mercy, they are absolutely atrocious) that most princesses would not come close to them.
Except two very special, beautiful princesses, that is. You’re not so tough anymore, Papa!
What makes you love your dad even more today than ever before?[/nextpage]