My Dad

In my rare spare moments since my first child was born in February, I find my mind drifting off on nostalgic tangents from my childhood. This includes doing a lot of thinking about my folks.

On the day my son was born, I was in the parking garage near the hospital—after just getting off the phone with my dad—when this strange feeling washed over me: I'm going to be THAT for someone? I'm going to be to my son what that guy is to me....not easy shoes to fill.

I'm like my dad in a lot of ways, for better and worse. Even though when I was growing up my dad's role was a lot different than the one I find myself in—he worked his rather-large posterior off (as did my mom) to make sure we were well taken care of, while I am working from home and doing the majority of the day-to-day childcare duties—the common thread here is we both are willing to do whatever it takes to ensure our families are well-cared for.

I also look quite a bit like my dad. When I show my favorite picture of me and my dad to my friends, they have a hard time believing that I am the short blonde one. I remember the day that picture was taken as clear as day. This and a million other memories of great times with my dad are stored away and never fail to warm my cold, black heart.

This weekend, I'm off to my Dad's 60th birthday party—hopefully making the first of the next million happy memories I have of my dad.

Happy 60th Birthday, Dad.