Things that happen at home:
So, like. My dad is definitely a Man’s Man but in like. The softest ways.
Every holiday growing up, he made sure that my mom got an actual thoughtful gift that he specifically took me and my sisters/siblings shopping for.
He got really expensive/sentimental jewelry that my mom is terrified to wear (she doesn’t want to accidentally lose it) for every major anniversary/life event. (Don’t even get me started on the antique ivory set he bought her for her 35th birthday, his heart is in the right place, okay? Typically he sticks to Black Hills gold and gemstones from our various birthdays…)
He always always always looks my mom’s car over anytime she even hints that there might be a problem.
He always finishes what he starts around the house (projects…) it might take him six months but it does end up finished! He just doesn’t have any teenagers left to ground and use for manual labor anymore.
He texts me and his other children on Mother’s Day and her birthday to remind us to contact her. We usually remember and can safely text him back that we already have, but the fact that h does it at noon every single time….
He taught all of us kids how to get out of bad car trouble. When I was 16 and he had just bought me my first car, I was grounded until I had read the owners manual and knew how to change a tire on that specific car.
He actually brought a “family car” that I was allowed to drive but he never ever held it over my head, the only time that car was an “issue” was because I was already living on campus for college and if I needed it I could just hitch a ride with him up to the house and “borrow” that cute little Volkswagen Beetle for the weekend. He worked at the same campus that I attended, so he didn’t want the parking fees.
That cute little 2002 bug was how I learned how to deal with a fuel injection line. My dad was like “we need to change the timing belt, but holy fuck this is going to be complicated…fuck German engineers.”
No, seriously, fuck German engineers and whatever the fuck they did with the bug. That shit was HARD, and we both didn’t know if it would start up.
When I was 25 years old my father bought me brake rotors for my birthday because I had purchased the faulty van from my mom. I knew exactly what was wrong with it, I knew exactly how to drive it, and my dad brought me three cold beers while I was changing the rotors while he talked with the guy I was dating at the time about how awesome it was that I knew shit about cars.
My dad is proud of the life he’s built. He’s proud of his daughters and wife and career. He’s got every reason to be proud and happy. He should be proud, because all the people in his life are proud of him.
I absolutely love my dad. I’m proud of the things he taught me, and I’m proud of the person he is.
Don’t get me wrong, he can be human and petty, just like we all can be. But my dad is my fucking rock and I wouldn’t trade that for anything else in the world.
