Happy Father's Day!
Long have I been of the opinion that I have the best pop in the world. Well, there were a few years there between 13 and 16 that I thought he was the devil incarnate, but then I thought the same of all authority figures at that time.
Recently, I have been reminded of his greatness. There was an article a while back in the G&M that was all proud because Canadian fathers spent more time with their kids then any other fathers in Western countries - a whole 1.2 hours a day. This shocked me - we're proud of this? I don't know, I realize that some dads have to work weird or many hours in order to support a family and don't want to judge this, but my dad held down a job and as soon as he came home from work he spent all evening with me. We'd eat dinner then go for a walk or bike ride, then play, then we'd go to bed early so I could get extra time of him reading whatever story we were on. He still tries to read me bedtime stories - I often think that my insomnia started at the same time that I got too cool for bedtime readings.
Then every Saturday and Sunday we would either swim (though neither of us knows how to swim) or ice skate and then come home and read a play together. I always had a blast doing this, and it's probably why I still prefer to read all fictional work aloud (the coffee shops around here are now quite used to me coming in with a book and whispering to myself). We'd pick out the characters we wanted to be and then start reading and inevitably dad would fall asleep while reading - he has this kind of freaky ability of being able to talk coherently while he's sleeping and so he would still start talking everytime I finished reading my part, but he was very obviously not reading the text. We'd be reading Shakespeare and I'd read and then dad would come out with "Chickens are the most interesting animals" - many's the time when I wouldn't wake him up just to see what odd turns the plot would take under his unconscious direction.
He has also been really supportive of all my flaky decisions. Mom has been the support gal, but he follows along pretty well considering he's the one who always had to pay my rent when I had quit yet another job on the grounds that it "soul killing." I mean, the other day I mentioned that I admire my own ability to never keep doing something I don't want to do, but much of that comes from the support, both financially and emotionally, that my parents have always given me. Having spoken to a few people recently whose parents have preconceived notions about what should make their children happy and refuse to support any other notions, I am quite appreciative of daddy-o.
Anyhoo, enough sappiness. Must actually remember to go call my dad and tell him all this.
Long have I been of the opinion that I have the best pop in the world. Well, there were a few years there between 13 and 16 that I thought he was the devil incarnate, but then I thought the same of all authority figures at that time.
Recently, I have been reminded of his greatness. There was an article a while back in the G&M that was all proud because Canadian fathers spent more time with their kids then any other fathers in Western countries - a whole 1.2 hours a day. This shocked me - we're proud of this? I don't know, I realize that some dads have to work weird or many hours in order to support a family and don't want to judge this, but my dad held down a job and as soon as he came home from work he spent all evening with me. We'd eat dinner then go for a walk or bike ride, then play, then we'd go to bed early so I could get extra time of him reading whatever story we were on. He still tries to read me bedtime stories - I often think that my insomnia started at the same time that I got too cool for bedtime readings.
Then every Saturday and Sunday we would either swim (though neither of us knows how to swim) or ice skate and then come home and read a play together. I always had a blast doing this, and it's probably why I still prefer to read all fictional work aloud (the coffee shops around here are now quite used to me coming in with a book and whispering to myself). We'd pick out the characters we wanted to be and then start reading and inevitably dad would fall asleep while reading - he has this kind of freaky ability of being able to talk coherently while he's sleeping and so he would still start talking everytime I finished reading my part, but he was very obviously not reading the text. We'd be reading Shakespeare and I'd read and then dad would come out with "Chickens are the most interesting animals" - many's the time when I wouldn't wake him up just to see what odd turns the plot would take under his unconscious direction.
He has also been really supportive of all my flaky decisions. Mom has been the support gal, but he follows along pretty well considering he's the one who always had to pay my rent when I had quit yet another job on the grounds that it "soul killing." I mean, the other day I mentioned that I admire my own ability to never keep doing something I don't want to do, but much of that comes from the support, both financially and emotionally, that my parents have always given me. Having spoken to a few people recently whose parents have preconceived notions about what should make their children happy and refuse to support any other notions, I am quite appreciative of daddy-o.
Anyhoo, enough sappiness. Must actually remember to go call my dad and tell him all this.
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