You know how you grow up in a house with people all around you saying and doing the same things all the time, and you just figure that’s how things are in everyone’s house? Then, you go to visit one of your girlfriends and you realize not everyone puts sugar on their spaghetti, or sings out loud to Broadway soundtracks, or roller skates in their basement for fun.
Last night, with Father’s Day just around the corner, I started thinking about what it was like growing up in the house with my Daddy. It was fun, I tell you. My dad is da bomb! Poor thing, he lived in that house with my mom, my sister, and me, and all of our hormones and mood swings and drama, and he took it all in stride. We even had a female cat. “Yeah,” he’d say, “I’m outnumbered in my own house.” And then he’d drive us to ballet, or to cheerleading practice, or to get our hair pressed and curled. Or, he’d lie on his back on the floor in the dining room and I’d lay there next to him and we’d listen to Lena Horne singing through the speakers on my dad’s hi-fidelity stereo. Some days, our family of four would go for a bike ride; my dad in the lead. On car trips, he’d suddenly belt out a line of “Down In The Valley” just to keep things interesting. Good times.
My dad gave the best advice. He still does. Here are just a few of his one-liners: Join me at (in)courage for the rest.