(no subject)
My Dad
The old lady walked towards us, with her shopping cart filled with vegetables and sweets, which I am assuming was for home made delectables. “She sure does have your eyes, big green eyes they are! We know who her Daddy is.” She said it with a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye, but I don’t think she quite got the reaction that she wanted to receive. My Dad, well he was humored, my Mom…looked on horrified and her mouth turned into a gaping shape of an “O.” As my Mom tried to scramble for the tactful words she simply said, “Autumn is adopted.” While my Dad looked on in complete humor at the lady’s reaction…as she looked horrified and then scampered off still saying he was my Dad.
While, the lady was presuming my father and I had a blood relationship…even after she persisted to say that there was blood here, I have to agree in a different way. He is my Dad, and strangely enough I do share many of his attributes…even though my eyes have long since turned brown. I have also realized that for a man to be a father, is simply, however complicated enough, to form the contradiction that being a father has nothing to do about blood but the responsibility of care taking and nurturing…even though that normally is from a blood related form.
Everything was quite normal. My Dad is an avid baseball fan, so I was entered in t-ball. He spent hours upon hours trying to perfect my skill. He spent a couple of weeks on trying to train me not to run away from the ball…but to catch it (this still hasn’t happened yet). Even, humorously enough, trying to teach me to hit a ball…, which from recent discovery could have been hindered from my lack of depth perception. Even when I would get so bored in the outfield that I would sit down and play in the dirt, often missing the ball, he would sit out in the field and keep me occupied. Of course, when I entered dance classes…he did not sit in there to help me stay occupied.
Humor was even brought in when I was learning how to tie my shoes. When he told me I wasn’t going to go to vacation with the rest of the family if I couldn’t tie my shoe. My Dad has this mad skill with bribing children, because I quickly but with a hissy fit learned how to tie my shoe to my Dad’s lack of patience and to my tear etched face. After three hours, and someone as stubborn as I am, I went to vacation with the rest of the family…and I could tie my shoe!
There were of course, more eventful things like t-ball. Did I mention how my Dad LOVES to fish? Did I mention how I hated to fish at the time? That it made me feel like my teacher was scraping her fingers across the board into eternity and making me sit in the corner and endure it. I thought fishing was absolutely horrible. My Dad explained to me that doing things I didn’t like would build character. (This is what he said about mowing the grass, washing the dishes, cleaning my room, getting shots, eating nasty mushrooms, and the agony goes on forever.) With the basis of this motto he entered me into a 12 and under fishing contest in hopes that I would make him proud. This required a lot of bonding time, a lot of fish bait, and in the end him teaching me that it didn’t matter or not if I won or lost…but it really helped that I got the first place trophy. He was proud.
Then the first date, that was interesting for my Dad. He seemed concerned. He didn’t have a shotgun or anything out like he always threatened he would. But of course, he did threaten my date by telling him he had a hole in the back yard. After seeing my date’s reaction to the “hole” and laughing hysterically at his discomfort Daddy was no longer concerned, but especially humored.
Through all my life, my Dad has given me witty advice, like “If someone ever makes you mad, don’t hit him or her somewhere wimpy, hit him or her in the nose at least.” He did make fun of me a lot, however mutually…another attribute I received from my Dad. However when I think about the little old lady that stopped us in the store, she was recognizing similarities in us, she couldn’t be more right. He is my Dad.
The old lady walked towards us, with her shopping cart filled with vegetables and sweets, which I am assuming was for home made delectables. “She sure does have your eyes, big green eyes they are! We know who her Daddy is.” She said it with a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye, but I don’t think she quite got the reaction that she wanted to receive. My Dad, well he was humored, my Mom…looked on horrified and her mouth turned into a gaping shape of an “O.” As my Mom tried to scramble for the tactful words she simply said, “Autumn is adopted.” While my Dad looked on in complete humor at the lady’s reaction…as she looked horrified and then scampered off still saying he was my Dad.
While, the lady was presuming my father and I had a blood relationship…even after she persisted to say that there was blood here, I have to agree in a different way. He is my Dad, and strangely enough I do share many of his attributes…even though my eyes have long since turned brown. I have also realized that for a man to be a father, is simply, however complicated enough, to form the contradiction that being a father has nothing to do about blood but the responsibility of care taking and nurturing…even though that normally is from a blood related form.
Everything was quite normal. My Dad is an avid baseball fan, so I was entered in t-ball. He spent hours upon hours trying to perfect my skill. He spent a couple of weeks on trying to train me not to run away from the ball…but to catch it (this still hasn’t happened yet). Even, humorously enough, trying to teach me to hit a ball…, which from recent discovery could have been hindered from my lack of depth perception. Even when I would get so bored in the outfield that I would sit down and play in the dirt, often missing the ball, he would sit out in the field and keep me occupied. Of course, when I entered dance classes…he did not sit in there to help me stay occupied.
Humor was even brought in when I was learning how to tie my shoes. When he told me I wasn’t going to go to vacation with the rest of the family if I couldn’t tie my shoe. My Dad has this mad skill with bribing children, because I quickly but with a hissy fit learned how to tie my shoe to my Dad’s lack of patience and to my tear etched face. After three hours, and someone as stubborn as I am, I went to vacation with the rest of the family…and I could tie my shoe!
There were of course, more eventful things like t-ball. Did I mention how my Dad LOVES to fish? Did I mention how I hated to fish at the time? That it made me feel like my teacher was scraping her fingers across the board into eternity and making me sit in the corner and endure it. I thought fishing was absolutely horrible. My Dad explained to me that doing things I didn’t like would build character. (This is what he said about mowing the grass, washing the dishes, cleaning my room, getting shots, eating nasty mushrooms, and the agony goes on forever.) With the basis of this motto he entered me into a 12 and under fishing contest in hopes that I would make him proud. This required a lot of bonding time, a lot of fish bait, and in the end him teaching me that it didn’t matter or not if I won or lost…but it really helped that I got the first place trophy. He was proud.
Then the first date, that was interesting for my Dad. He seemed concerned. He didn’t have a shotgun or anything out like he always threatened he would. But of course, he did threaten my date by telling him he had a hole in the back yard. After seeing my date’s reaction to the “hole” and laughing hysterically at his discomfort Daddy was no longer concerned, but especially humored.
Through all my life, my Dad has given me witty advice, like “If someone ever makes you mad, don’t hit him or her somewhere wimpy, hit him or her in the nose at least.” He did make fun of me a lot, however mutually…another attribute I received from my Dad. However when I think about the little old lady that stopped us in the store, she was recognizing similarities in us, she couldn’t be more right. He is my Dad.