You're the best. Everyone thinks so. My friends are always pretending that you're their dad when you aren't looking. You're super cool in weird ways. You used to skip out on swimming lessons, ride your pony "Blacky," bail hay and drink goat's milk in Iowa (you may not think that's cool, but it sounds pretty exotic to me)... For example, you know a lot about fish tanks, you made a rocking chair once, you climb mountains, build houses, and even beat mom in scrabble (every once in a while). Nobody can do all those things. Well, certainly not in combination. I know little girls always try to find somebody to marry who's like their daddy, but mom has been telling me from the very beginning that I never had a chance--after all, nobody knows anything about fish tanks anymore.
I think you're very easy to talk to, which is something that very few daughters can say. I probably stems from my childhood when I used to commute with you to go to daycare in your building and then to elementary school--forty minutes of talking in the morning and the afternoon will do it. We used to listen to oldies 94.1 and KFAN or I'd read books out loud. Now you listen to books on tape--they probably have better readers than I was, and I'm sure they aren't reading "The Boxcar Children" or "American Girl Doll Adventures," but I really enjoyed our trips. Except for that one time I tried to comb my hair and the brush got all snarled...
You seem to dominate my childhood memories. You were always home braiding my hair into elaborate fishtails and sitting in my room with the rocking chair until I fell asleep--you even used to let us style your hair. You threw me in the air when "John Stockton sent the Utah Jazz to the NBA finals!" I remember you trying to talk me into eating a hotdog once when we were camping in Canada, but I refused and you made me a veggie burger and never bugged me about being a 13-year-old vegetarian again. Remember when we went and picked out Rusty? Admit it--that was a genius idea.
I remember you pointing out poison ivy before my first climb (I wasn't afraid of heights, I was afraid of being itchy) and I always remember our father's day outings with Laura. Tracy Aviary, Liberty Park, once we did a Starzz 5K. We're going on an outing tomorrow...once Laura and I come up with something.
You've always made me feel safe. I remember once we were raking leaves in the back yard when I was little and I'd just watched a scary movie called The Witches (Rold Dahl was so scary) and I was pretty sure the "Grand High Witch" was going to walk across the deck and turn me into a mouse. The whole day I made sure that you were between me and the deck. I still feel that way a little bit. I'm very happy that you've always been there for me, even if you've never defended me from an evil witch.
I remember once time when in high school when I was bummed out about religion and feeling like a black sheep, or at least a grey sheep. You told me that no religion and no person should ever be hateful, but also that understanding was a two-way street and I would have to try to understand people if I wanted to feel better. I think I would have rather just talked about how everyone sucks but me, gotten bitter and engaged in "Utah hating," but I think back on that conversation often and it still means a lot to me. You were right. I tend to lump that memory with another one: I once came home from junior high and called someone, probably Laura, a "fag," you and mom both leapt out of your seats like I'd slapped you and told me how hurtful and wounding words like that could be. I remember thinking you were both crazy, and I tried to keep using the word, but it felt wrong and it still does.
This is another sort of silly memory, but I remember being at McDonalds when I was pretty little sometime during a road trip and we ordered water. I must have thought I was pretty smart because I cheated the system and filled my drink up with orange soda (I could have at least gone with Sprite, if I was trying to be sneaky). You gave me a dollar and we went and paid for the drink. You said, "there's no reason to lie about something silly like pop." I'm making you sound like you're always delivering prophetic statements, but I guess I just really remember the times that you did.
I've mentioned the girly stuff that you've been supportive of (hair, American Girl Dolls, playing cat's cradle) but you were also at all my concerts throughout school (even though your musical knowledge stops at "Joy to the World") and I know you were proud at things like concerto night and my graduations. I think you're even interested in art history (or at least you let me talk about it like we're still commuting to school), which is just kind, because it's pretty boring most of the time.
Growing up I never thought about how great my dad was (unless mom was telling me about it). I was used to my dad being home a lot--all summer even--making sure I had everything I needed or wanted, playing games and laughing with our family every night. I realize now that that is an incredible gift that a lot of people I know didn't have.
I'm very thankful for our relationship and I'm so proud that you're my dad. Ask anyone, I always bring my friends to the house, tell random people your calculus scores and say "Oh, that's my dad's climb."
I took this picture a long time ago, but I always pull it up in Oregon when I'm missing you.
Love you,
Sarah
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