Here’s to my dad! I was lucky enough to have one who liked being a dad, who played ball with us and took us to sporting events and coached our teams and refereed our games and volunteered with Boy Scouts. He drove cars full of girls* to games and parties, and that couldn’t have been pleasant. (In the days before seatbelt laws, we once crammed the majority of my soccer team into the car)
He took us kids camping places like this:
He took us to the Boy Scout tree lot to pick out a Christmas tree every year. He surprised me by showing up at my elementary school graduation and tousling my hair in front of people. Daaaa-aaad!
So thanks, Dad, for everything, including the stuff I don’t know about. I’m glad you’re my dad.
*I was going to use the cliche “squealing girls,” but it doesn’t paint the whole picture. Sure we might have squealed a lot, but with girls of that age there’s a terrible undercurrent of backstabbing, envy, and jockeying for position.