My dad is probably the best dad in the world. Sure he has his temper and can be kind of a dunce, but that's what makes him endearing. His existence is also the most likely reason why I'm single. Let's face it, no one can compare to my dad. He's hilarious and handy (no really! he can build anything), can cook, clean, loves children, plays the guitar, is an artist, extremely intelligent, has a pension for sci/fi, flies airplanes, and loves me unconditionally.
I have memories of him coming to my rescue with band-aids aplenty. For instance, while building our deck Dad told me repeatedly not to walk across the support beams because I could fall (a la Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz). Of course I didn't listen and I fell off a support beam, landing flat on my back with no time to back peddle or brace my fall. It knocked the wind right out of me; and before I have time to catch my breath and cry, I see him racing towards me with this terrified look like I'd really hurt myself and his hair billowing out around his face. My first coherent thought was that he looked like Brave Heart Lion (give me a break, I was 9) and that I had to make him sure I was okay. I didn't cry.
And there are others from the time I skinned my knee on the sidewalk after refusing to go to bed until he said he loved me and goodnight... to most recently, telling me I can always come home because he didn't want to see me fail.
If Mom gave me her rebellious streak and propensity to forget things, then Dad gave me everything else. I have a feeling I'm going to have to significantly lower my standards, unless God decides to pull out all the stops.
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