It's interesting to me that as the years go by, I realize just how like my Dad I am. We laugh now over this fact, this image of my Dad in a woman's body, and I realize, at the same time, that my father taught me what I needed to know about how society would perceive me, how people would interpret me, how to survive within that structure, and then, how to break those same boundaries. He also taught me, and continues to teach me, how to be my own person. He accepts in me what we share, and also what we do not. Because the difference is we are not the same, merely similiar, and I can build on his honesty over his own mistakes and achievements in order to make my own, in equal parts. It is days like today, that I am reminded how lucky I am to have him in my life.
And I hope that he feels the same, regardless of the time we were in the check out line of the grocery store and I poked him in the side and said, "Look! It jiggles," when the cashier was flirting with him.
Or regardless of the time that I thanked God for my not inheriting his ears, likening them to Disney's Dumbo attempting to fly.
Or even in spite of the time he was fixing a door frame in the house and I walked quietly up to him and waited for him to notice, only to watch him shout, and leap several feet in the air.
Or regardless of the time I decided to be a cheerleader and he was rewarded a pink ribbon declairing him "Best Mom!" for bringing homemade brownies and Gatorade to the games.
Or.... Umm, how about, I love you, Daddy!
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