to that dearest dad of mine,
Thank you for teaching me how to suffer embarrassment at an early age. I swear, it's all because of you and your Piaget inspired embarrassment conditioning, I am no longer embarrassed about anything ever. Because at some point along the way I realized if who you are is different than what follows social norm, it's their problem, not yours. Being the only person that isn't over the age of 75 at the pool in a speedo? "Michael Phelps wear them, what's the problem?" Driving a car that's older than half your age? "SO? Everything is made like crap nowadays." Turns out, it's a lot more fun to just live and be weird. I would know. I got it from you.
I almost didn't want to move to Seattle this summer because I was going to miss your drop ins at work and helping you with your experiments on my breaks when I worked three floors above yours. As much fun as exploring the city during my lunch breaks now are, I sometimes still wish I could exchange the occasional lunch on Pike's for twenty minutes in your office eating PB&J's with you.
I may be Mom's daughter through and through, but you're the one who keeps me grounded and reminds me that no matter my successes, it doesn't mean anything if I'm a crappy family member, friend, or can't keep my room clean.
You're FIFTY today and this is the first year I haven't been there for your birthday/Father's Day extravaganza and I wish I could have seen your face when you saw my annual photoshopped card for you. I missed you today, old man, and thought of how much many complaints on every city block you would be rolling off your sassy tongue if you could see what I saw.
Thank you for loving me despite wanting to make crazy choices like jetting off to Hawaii and moving to the city for the summer because I know I can count on you to be the person I know is always looking out for me.