In Praise of my Father
It's Father's Day. Dad doesn't read this blog, thank goodness, but I thought I would share me Pa with all of you delightful folks who have not yet met him. As for the rest of you, you know him, most of you love him, so here he is again, but younger. I decided not to post recent ones. I was thinking I should write a long sappy description of my Dad and his wonderfulness and not wonderfulness, a story about the trials and travails of a daughter's relationship with her father... the joys and the injustice... the stories of him threatening boyfriends or catching me making out with said boyfriends in my room (and then telling me, "Ash, at least just go do it the car! Not in the house!") or sitting me down at 14 in front of his old turntable with a set of headphones and a pile of Joni Mitchell records and saying, "You've got to hear this. You're gonna thank me." But I just don't have it in me today. So instead, here are some photos of...
I used to LOVE playing marbles with Dad. Sorry, what I should say is that I used to love throwing them on the floor and then talking about which ones were the prettiest. Seriously. That's how Dad and I played marbles.
Oh, and also, remember when I told you about how Dad lost his finger? Well, I used to call what remained, "Stumpie," and, I know this is totally ridiculous, but I loved Stumpie dearly because he was little and Dad knew just how to wiggle it and make it talk and all kinds of weirdness that is now making me feel totally ridiculous. But, anyway, Dad used to hold a fist full of marbles in his left hand and I would pretend that Stumpie was a door that I would open and all manner of glinting glassy colorful kaleidoscopic marbles would pour out. I loved that game.
I have a really bizarre family history. I had sort of a communal upbringing at a Victorian B&B called Edencroft Manor. It would take me forever to explain how insane this was, so suffice it to say that I have many tales of all of the interesting folk who used to take care of me there. This is me at 3 with my parents and godparents in front of Edencroft. I've always had a thing for red doors (I do not want to paint them black, just so you know). And it's so funny that I'm pointing at Uncle Bill's shoe (remember Uncle Bill? he was featured in two of the facts from this entry), because he is so so tall, a total giant to a three-year-old, and has enormous feet. I was obsessed with the size of his feet. (Holy crap, I was the ODDEST child)
This was another favorite game, though I, of course, have no memory of loving it. I can tell that I did though, who wouldn't?
A photo of me eating. How appropriate. The Blisses have healthy appetites, all of us.
But what's interesting about this photo is that it is one of the only surviving ones to show DAD'S LEFT POINTER FINGER IN TACT! ;)
(Squiggy is one of his many nicknames for me)
I used to LOVE playing marbles with Dad. Sorry, what I should say is that I used to love throwing them on the floor and then talking about which ones were the prettiest. Seriously. That's how Dad and I played marbles.
Oh, and also, remember when I told you about how Dad lost his finger? Well, I used to call what remained, "Stumpie," and, I know this is totally ridiculous, but I loved Stumpie dearly because he was little and Dad knew just how to wiggle it and make it talk and all kinds of weirdness that is now making me feel totally ridiculous. But, anyway, Dad used to hold a fist full of marbles in his left hand and I would pretend that Stumpie was a door that I would open and all manner of glinting glassy colorful kaleidoscopic marbles would pour out. I loved that game.
I have a really bizarre family history. I had sort of a communal upbringing at a Victorian B&B called Edencroft Manor. It would take me forever to explain how insane this was, so suffice it to say that I have many tales of all of the interesting folk who used to take care of me there. This is me at 3 with my parents and godparents in front of Edencroft. I've always had a thing for red doors (I do not want to paint them black, just so you know). And it's so funny that I'm pointing at Uncle Bill's shoe (remember Uncle Bill? he was featured in two of the facts from this entry), because he is so so tall, a total giant to a three-year-old, and has enormous feet. I was obsessed with the size of his feet. (Holy crap, I was the ODDEST child)
This was another favorite game, though I, of course, have no memory of loving it. I can tell that I did though, who wouldn't?
A photo of me eating. How appropriate. The Blisses have healthy appetites, all of us.
But what's interesting about this photo is that it is one of the only surviving ones to show DAD'S LEFT POINTER FINGER IN TACT! ;)
(Squiggy is one of his many nicknames for me)