I started to think of a blog as a sort of ode to Father's Day since it's coming up and I know there are a lot of dads out there. But it's getting too long and I'm so tired my teeth hurt, so I'll tell you a little funny story with a short ode to Dad prologue.
My parents have been split up since before I turned a year old. I don't remember a time when they were together, so it's never been a big issue for me. In fact, I sort of cringe at the idea of them having lived their lives together, that seems wrong and hilarious all at the same time.
Anyway, I lived with my mom my whole life but I saw my dad frequently. At least once a week when he lived in Seattle, then at least once a month he would fly me down to Portland when he moved to a city near there. My dad is my hero. When I was a little girl I was a complete Daddy's Girl..... okay, I still am. My dad is the coolest guy on the planet. When I was small, I would do anything for him. He tells a story about how when I was a baby and I cried while he changed my diaper, he would just lay his hand on my stomach and say, "Jennifer, I'm going as fast as I can. Now if you can just take a deep breath and calm down and stop squirming, I'll get this done even faster and you'll be warm and dry." And I'd stop crying. =) Very sweet of him to say, I'm sure.
Once, when I was about five years old, I was visiting my dad at his house. His girlfriend, Lori, was chasing me around the house and tickling me and I was screaming and running and letting myself get caught and then getting away and screaming and running and laughing again.... then I fell down and scraped my knee.
It wasn't a bad scrape, in fact I remember it, it was more of a skin... sometimes those can hurt more, but apparently I decided it hurt A LOT.
Enough to scream my little ass off. Lori scooped me up and took me into the kitchen and set me on the counter. She looked at my knee and blew on it, then got a cold towel.
I kept screaming.
They got some neosporin on it, then got out some really cute snoopy band-aids and put one on my wound.
Still, I screamed.
My dad looked confused. He crouched down in front of me and asked me if there was something they missed, did I hurt anywhere else?
"Noooo," I sniffled.
"So, what's the deal? Why are you still crying?"
"I don't knoooooooooow. It HURT!" I cried, getting frustrated. (Who knows why, seriously, I was a kid.)
"Jennifer, please stop crying. We were just going to sit down and have some ice cream. Don't you want to sit down with us?"
"NOOOOOOOO!" I screamed, apparently getting angry.
"Alright, that's it. You either stop crying, or you're going to get a spanking and you can spend the rest of the night in your room."
And with that last, crazy incomprehensible scream, my father took me by the arm, marched me down the hall to my room, turned me toward my door, and administered his one and only spanking. It was more of a swat, really. I turned and looked upon him with incredulity and total five year old pissed-off-ness (hahaha, there I go, coining dumb words again)....
"DAD, YOU'RE A BIG FUCK HEAD!!!"
And I slammed my door in my father's face.
Apparently they sat in the kitchen trying to muffle their laughter because they didn't want me to think it was okay to say those words.
I can't believe he didn't come in there after me. It must have been because he was too busy laughing his ass off and didn't want me to see.
Don't worry, Daddies. Your little ladies won't do such a terrible thing to you. =) I swear, I'm an exceptional case.
Besides, after that my daddy taught me never to use those words in an arguement.