Today is my dad’s birthday. I won’t say how old he is, because he’ll of course murder me.
My dad and I never lived more than a couple hours’ drive away because of circumstances, but I was attached to him from a very young age.
My opinion of him is this: a seemingly fearless guy who is fun to be around, fiercely intelligent and has a firm grasp on things. I can think of few better positive influences for a young girl.
Much like my aunt, Daddio never hesitated to call me on my behaviour when I was being an unwise young person (which happens a great deal when you’re a young person). I could always count on both of them for mutual respect throughout my growing pains, tantrums and the like.
At the same time, they didn’t stifle anything about my development. I made my own decisions, and my own mistakes in the process. I learned from them, and I continue to learn with them.
“You’re over 21 now, right?” I remember my dad saying once over a Sunday brunch table, and summarily ordering a pitcher of margarita for us to share.
These are how our hangouts go: walking about town, eating and drinking, and spending hours getting up to speed with one another again. They’re great.
I’d wager that my relationship with my dad is one of the truly most effortless relationships I will ever have in my life. He taught me the value of independence, of exploration of self and beyond, and of doing my part for long periods of time before enjoying the rewards that may come.
The lessons taught and the time spent wherever possible have yielded this love in which I hold for no one else, Daddio.
I love you, and thank you for all that you’ve done in helping me grow. Happy birthday.