Happy Birthday Dad!
Today, March 31, 2008 is 65 years from the day of his birth. He is old. Legally.
At the ripe age of 65, he can talk loudly, walk slowly and set the thermostat either really high or really low. He can drive wrecklessly. If someone says something he doesn't like, he can pretend his hearing isn't what it used to be. He can show his appreciation for dinner by farting unabashedly (and probably in public). He can tell the same stories over and over again. He can do this and many other things he's already been doing for years.
Theoretically, he can retire. Although I suspect, it won't happen so easily. He's stubborn. He does what he does. Like any other year, he will invest heavily in a garden that rewards him with 600 asparagus spears and 3 tomatoes. He'll continue to send all three of his kids an e-mail every March that his Crocuses are starting to pop out of the ground, that Spring is officially here. The e-mail will be accompanied by 8 enormous jpegs of dirt. One week later, I'll get double prints in the mail of the same exact picture. It will be years before he stops telling me to "be careful" when I cross the street or go out for a drive. He'll ask me why I never read that book he gave me on the central banks and their influence on the local markets and the ways I can maximize my return in a shaky economy. He'll randomly send me an e-mail telling me about how the stars looked this one night in 1968, how it was also the night that some war started in Eastern Europe, and on a side note, Hillary Clinton is going to ruin this country and Stouffer's Lasagna is delicious. I'll visit him in Connecticut and he'll give me $40 for the same large pizza that has cost $15 all these years. He'll probably also get choked up and shed a few tears while remembering my mother.
I can't say I've always agreed with the way he's done his job all these years. But he was my father the best way he could. He told me recently that he's proud of me. For every year we get older and I become less embarassed of my father, I am more proud of him and the job he's done. I wish him a happy birthday.
At the ripe age of 65, he can talk loudly, walk slowly and set the thermostat either really high or really low. He can drive wrecklessly. If someone says something he doesn't like, he can pretend his hearing isn't what it used to be. He can show his appreciation for dinner by farting unabashedly (and probably in public). He can tell the same stories over and over again. He can do this and many other things he's already been doing for years.
Theoretically, he can retire. Although I suspect, it won't happen so easily. He's stubborn. He does what he does. Like any other year, he will invest heavily in a garden that rewards him with 600 asparagus spears and 3 tomatoes. He'll continue to send all three of his kids an e-mail every March that his Crocuses are starting to pop out of the ground, that Spring is officially here. The e-mail will be accompanied by 8 enormous jpegs of dirt. One week later, I'll get double prints in the mail of the same exact picture. It will be years before he stops telling me to "be careful" when I cross the street or go out for a drive. He'll ask me why I never read that book he gave me on the central banks and their influence on the local markets and the ways I can maximize my return in a shaky economy. He'll randomly send me an e-mail telling me about how the stars looked this one night in 1968, how it was also the night that some war started in Eastern Europe, and on a side note, Hillary Clinton is going to ruin this country and Stouffer's Lasagna is delicious. I'll visit him in Connecticut and he'll give me $40 for the same large pizza that has cost $15 all these years. He'll probably also get choked up and shed a few tears while remembering my mother.
I can't say I've always agreed with the way he's done his job all these years. But he was my father the best way he could. He told me recently that he's proud of me. For every year we get older and I become less embarassed of my father, I am more proud of him and the job he's done. I wish him a happy birthday.
posted by Dave at
12:50 AM
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