Monday, June 21, 2010

A Father's Day Ode

 An Ode to My Dad:

  • Who lived in a house full of women and still took my sister and me fishing on what I now realize were his only moments of solitude/quiet;
  • Who allowed obnoxious 13-year-old me to shorten his name and call him "Ferd," even though he hated it;
  •  Who is my go-to guy for all things car-, money-, job-, and sometimes even boy-related;
  • Who says he can't wait to marry me off so I find someone else to go to for these things, even though I know he secretly loves it;
  • Who sounds just like Yogi Bear saying "heeey booboo..." when he walks into a room and greets you;
  • Who tried his best to teach me to play softball, and to fish, and now to cook;
  • Who hoped I would learn from his mistakes, but doesn't get to frustrated when I don't;
  • Who understands that just because I moved a state away from home, doesn't mean I love my family and my hometown any less than the people who move home and buy a house down the street, because he did the same thing when he was 18;
  • Who gave me this crazy unpronounceable Cajun name, love of spicy foods, easily browned skin, weird accent, and smart-ass sense of humor;
  • Who has been rockin' a 'stache for nearly 40 years, even when they weren't in style;
  • Who I've tried to "fancy up" for years, but insists on wearing white sneakers with jean shorts and an oversized t-shirt around the house (and probably around the town when I'm not there);
  • Who taught me that the best sandwich combination of all time is any meat plus any cheese, add (original) Doritos and yellow mustard;
  • Whose personal assistant/errand runner I became the second I turned 16;
  • Who, at a younger age than I am now, became a dad and has tried for nearly 28 years to be a better one each and every year. And he has.
I'm gonna buy that man a big ol' boat someday.


And it wouldn't be a Father's Day Ode without a shoutout to Grandaddy, my mom's dad. Who gave me my first sip of beer (Coors Original). Who let me sit in his lap and steer tractors, trucks, and pontoon boats. And who later, once I could reach the pedals, taught me to drive on dirt roads in Henry County, Alabama. I'm very fortunate to still have him around. Even if he doesn't understand that sometimes I just can't answer the phone and am not ignoring his calls, and that cell phones aren't like "house phones," and I know he's fibbing when he says he didn't just call 15 times in a row. What a funny, funny man.

3 comments:

RRB said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
RRB said...

I would like to thank Ferd for teaching me the art of adding doritos to sandwiches and for putting up with us during the middle school days. Woooo!

RRB said...

I loved reading this again today!