My parents are off cycling through the Julian Alps in Slovenia for 2 weeks (these are the athletic freaks of fitness I have to deal with) so hopefully they will take a break from their adventures and read the bloggy blog (afterall… they are my two most dedicated readers and sometimes I wonder… my only readers…)
My Dad is the bomb. I mean that in the most teenagery, 1999, sincere way. When something was The Bomb in 7th grade (TLC’s No Scrubs, The Matrix, sparkly belts, etc.) it was all you could do to surround yourself with as much The Bomb stuff as possible. (Don’t even get me started with how badly I wanted a Gameboy Color.)
My Dad’s love for grilling out, making things in the woodshop, playing basketball with me and singing the falsetto parts of songs are some of my favorite things about him… even if I never did get that Gameboy Color. He knew it was better for me to be outside, building forts and singing The Four Seasons until I was much to old to be doing so.
Thanks, Dad, for teaching me how to mow the lawn and pass biology, for taking me “fishing” and letting me read instead, for telling me my shorts were too short for school and making me shoot free throws correctly.
Just don’t try to pick me up like this any more: I’m afraid one of us is currently NOT riding bikes through the Julian Alps but instead eating waffles.
Happy Father’s Day, @DrCogs! (Taken with Instagram)