Cause he’s my Dad, that’s why

Just a small reason why I love him.


I’m his favorite. Don’t believe me? Just ask him…and then my Mom. (she’ll confirm it too)

Being the baby of the family has it’s perks, like being their favorite. Its great.

Though it’s unexplainable, I don’t remember a lot of my childhood, let alone my teenage years. No, I didn’t do anything ‘mind altering,’ I just can’t remember.

But one memory that I recall as a 4 or 5 year old is me sitting in the family rocking chair with my dad sitting at my feet gently lifting my foot out of a tub of warm water and slowly pulling a nail out of my foot. Slowly because he said it wasn’t wanting to come out.

That’s all I remember of it all. Just that part. My mom filled in the rest telling me (just last night, THANKS Mom!!) that I was jumping off the fence and landed right on top of a 2x4 with a nail sticking straight up. It went straight in between 2 bones and came out the top.

Picturing it?? Sweet, right?

They rushed me to the doctor where he said to take me home and soak it in water (and salt, maybe?) and pull it on out.

let’s pause..a dr. telling the parents of a 4 year old to take her home and do it themselves…would that happen now a days?? doubt it.

And that’s what he did. My strong Dad!

That word doesn’t even begin to describe him either.

Another memory: 8 or 9, he comes in the door, home from work with his hand wrapped up. While he was on a roof working, the head of the sledgehammer makes contact with his middle finger, smashing the bone. He tapes it up and keeps working the rest of the day and the day after that.

It’s permanently bent from healing on it’s own.

Another: early 20’s, he’s cutting a piece of wood with a table saw, it moves or is about to fall (fuzzy on how) but his hand gets caught in the revolving saw, stopping in the protective shield.

He almost severs all of his fingers. His pinky is barely hanging on. He begins to wrap it up but my brother was there and insisted he go to the dr.

Each needle the dr. goes to use bends at the contact of my dad’s skin. It’s so callused and rough from work, the needles won’t penetrate.

That’s my Dad. Hard working, loyal, strong, honest, devoted, lover of God, goofy, tender, loving and mine. A man once said, ‘if you ever want to shake the hand of a man who’s worked all his life, shake my Dad’s hand. It will hurt.’

Wouldn’t trade him for any other father out there.

I am my father’s daughter. We eat Excedrin like it’s candy..which reminds me of another memory. He, me, 10 candy bars each, 1 night.

Priceless



I love you Dad.

Your favorite,
Grisel

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