I love my dad.
Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. Closer to the truth would be that I adore my dad beyond all reason, which is probably a good thing given that I am, for better or for worse, pretty much exactly like him. He and I share the same smile, the same sarcasm, the same habit of rubbing our eyes incessantly for no apparent reason, and even the same graduate degree. Suffice it to say that my father has taught me an awful lot through the years.
He taught me (on purpose) how to tie my shoes, how to shoot a BB gun, how to ride a bike, how to waltz, and how to drive a car -- all skills I consider essential for a long and happy life. He inadvertently sparked my interest in Atlanta through his love of Hank Aaron, and of NY through his yearly insistence on a Broadway-style family vacation. He gave me logic puzzles on plane rides as a child and later acted surprised when I told him that the LSAT just "happened" to use the exact same format. He, along with my mom, spent years attending my horse shows, convincing me that I could in fact learn math, and generally encouraging me in every way possible. For all of that, I am grateful.
My dad also taught me some important unintentional lessons, such as how to trap a raccoon in the backyard and what NOT to do with it afterward (take it onto a mountain and poke it with sticks until you finally - after much hissing and snarling and scary moments - convince it to leave the cage). He taught me what happens when a moth flies inside a human ear, though I'm quite positive he would have preferred not to teach that particular lesson. He taught me that riding your bike incredibly fast in NYC just hours after your daughter's "bad dry run" for a lung transplant might actually land you in the hospital, too. And he even taught me what to do when you accidentally drive a rented van down stairs in the middle of Portugal. Useful stuff, by any measure.
Thankfully, he also taught me how to laugh at myself and how to find the good in just about anything. And that, my friends, is the best lesson I could ever hope for.
So in honor of my dad and all the other awesome fathers out there, here's one from the vaults: a guest blog by my wonderful daddy, proving once again that lessons are everywhere you care to find them.
Father knows best, indeed.
Happy father's day, beautiful people!
- I am a 33-year-old wife, sister, daughter, friend, law school graduate, CFer, lifelong student of public service, blog writer, patient, Sagittarius, reader, Top chef fan, double-lung transplant recipient (twice!), and dog owner living in Colorado's beautiful Mile High City. I love all things colorful, funny, inspiring, or needlessly sarcastic. I share my city with about 2,500,000 other remarkable people, share my disease with 70,000 other beautiful souls, share my life with some unbelievable family and friends, and share my apartment with one very handsome guy and one really fat mutt with a kick-butt personality. We make it work.
About This Blog:
This blog is about me, my life, my sometimes craziness, my disease, and my current journey as a double-lung transplant recipient. It's also a celebration of everyone out there with CF (and other chronic illnesses). It's for you, inspired by you, and dedicated to you -- the community that keeps me writing, living, and breathing.
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