Happy Father’s Day

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Dad, family, Father's Day, fathers and daughters, humour

As usual, I’m running behind posting. The idea is there (or sometimes it’s not) and I’ve written and re-written it in my head, usually in the middle of the night when I’m too lazy tired to get out of bed and look for a pencil and paper.  That, and risk exciting our guinea pig who thinks breakfast starts the moment someone stirs after a long period of silence. But I digress…

Yeah, he would look good in this! (@Pixabay)

It seems everyone, with “Daddy’s day” just around the corner, is talking about great gifts for Dad. I’m sure my Dad wouldn’t object to a new car or an Alaskan cruise, but he has me for a daughter, and I just don’t have that kind of cash. Unless the car is a Hot Wheels®.

But no, my Dad endured the annual celebration complete with lots of hugs and the usual round of crappy gifts – smeared artwork, tie cards, and jars of peanuts. One year I knit him a pair of slippers. There are only 7 shades in the rainbow…my slippers boasted 13! First, my Dad never wore slippers. Second, I didn’t have an allowance. Third, I was 11 and I didn’t know how to knit. He kept them in his dresser drawer (probably because  Mom told him he wasn’t allowed to throw them out)! They may still be there. He listens to my Mom!

Another year, I made him a jar of pickled bums! I couldn’t find the photo but it looked like this (only my “bums” were also various colours of the rainbow). I was a creative child!

I told him to throw those out last year.

One year he even got his own blog post. You should read it – I worked really hard on it and you’ll see just why he deserves so much better!

My Dad is a great guy…quiet, unassuming and patient. SO very patient! The rest of the year he put up with my fairy-princess-drama-queen-girly-girl behaviour. He even let me practice “walking down the aisle” when we walked home from figure skating practice (I think he hated every moment of it), but the practice paid off!

This year, I baked him brownies. There were from a mix. And he had to share them with the rest of the family. But in my defence, I still don’t have an allowance and it’s the thought that counts. Right?

Love you Dad!

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Father-Daughter Shopping

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Dad, embarrassing moments, family, Father, fathers and daughters, humour, memories, parent

“The father of a daughter is nothing but a high-class hostage.” – Garrison Keillor

Warning: The following post may cause men with women in their lives (be it mother, sister, spouse or significant other) to have a flashback to their own experience in this department, and spontaneously curl up in a ball and rock. Reader discretion is advised.

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It shouldn’t have been all that embarrassing, but as a teen, I still remember that it was…shopping with my Dad in not just any aisle. We were at the grocery store picking up a few things for my Mom, and he had followed me to the “pad wall”. You know the area in the grocery store that I’m talking about – The wall of brightly coloured bags and boxes with pretty flowers and symbol coded maxi pads, mini pads, tampons and panty liners. The aisle where few men dare to tread, and those who do look dazed and confused. This was before the advent of cell phones, where men just slowly scan the aisle with their phone directly in front of their eyes, waiting for their wife/girlfriend/significant other to yell “that one – in the green box with the dancing pandas”! As if those pandas have anything to dance about! I don’t blame men for wanting to avoid this aisle – I want to avoid this aisle! I think we can all agree that the options are overwhelming… What sane woman wants to give a monthly misery so much of her precious time and rapidly aging brain cells? Do advertisers really think that little pink rosebuds or unicorns sliding down rainbows somehow makes this better? But I digress…

And yet, there I was…standing in front of the colourful, formidable “pad wall”…with my Dad glued to my side. The overhead lights seemed to get a little brighter and the aisle a little longer. I prayed silently that no one I knew would see me standing there. I was sure that my Dad was just as uncomfortable, as we both shifted our weight to the other foot. I scanned that looming fortress wall looking for the blue package with the Sun symbol on it. And when I spotted it, I was aghast to see that my brand, my little frickin’ ray of sunshine, was on the top shelf, well above my 5’ ½” frame (the ½” is important).

“Ah, Dad?” I asked, staring straight at my Mary Jane’s. “Could you please pass me that one”, still staring at the floor and pointing up.

He gallantly reached up and passed me a pink box with daisies. “Um…” I could feel the heat rising in my face and sweat stains spreading under my arms and down my back. It was time to make a decision time: Man up and ask for the blue one with the little yellow sun, or suck it up, say thanks and face the next embarrassing step in bringing home the sundries.

I manned up, thanked him, and headed to the cashier to check out. My face was still flaming and my vision narrowing as my eyes bored a hole in the scuffed linoleum floor tiles. To this day, I’m amazed that I didn’t spontaneously combust right there on the spot. I might have thought to pray for it to happen if I hadn’t lost my ability to string together two or more words.

The car ride home was very quiet. I don’t know if my Dad was embarrassed or if he even gave it any thought. Some Dads, seeing the deteriorating condition of their daughters, might have taken the opportunity to juggle a few pink boxes, or loudly ask her if she preferred the rainbow pony to the dancing panda bear, or the wild rainforest over the field of dreams scented box. But my Dad was (and always is) a gentleman…even when facing a giant “pad wall”.

“It is admirable for a man to take his son fishing, but there is a special place in heaven for the father who takes his daughter shopping.” – John Sinor

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This post was prompted by Evil Squirrel’s Nestrecent Friday post, Unadventure Time, wherein he regaled us with a story from his own history in retail. The term “pad wall” caused me to have my own flashback (complete with fetal position and rocking), and now I’ve shared it with you. Don’t you feel special?

Happy Weekend!