Last night, I called my parents' house to make my car ride go a little faster. When Mom answers the phone, she gets upset when I don't have anything to say. Thankfully, Dad answered the phone this time.
Dad: HE-llo.
Sara: Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.
Dad: Wait... Is this Jenna? *please note that my parents have caller ID, and the name "Sara" appears on the phone when I call*
Sara: No, Dad, it's Sar!
Dad: Oh, Jenna always does that daaaaaaaaaaaad stuff when she calls to, so I just never know. Hi! MAN. What a DAY.
My father then goes on to tell me all about his day and how busy he is. Every couple of minutes, he says something to someone in the kitchen. I hardly say anything this whole time, but I am laughing a lot at my dad.
Dad: Hey, Sar, I'm really sorry to cut you off, but I have a piece of chicken in my hand, and we're eating dinner, and I don't have a plate, and your mom is yelling at me, and every time I try to fix the problem of having no plate, you start talking again, and I've got this chicken in my hand and no plate.
Sara: Dad, I haven't said anything this whole time!
Dad: Well, I'll tell you what, how about I call you back after I get this chicken situation figured out. What'd you call for anyway?
Sara: I called to hear about your life, and now I'm getting dinner, so I'll talk to you tomorrow.
When Jenna told us that she was pregnant, we sat in the living room talking about how excited we all were, and how holy baby! We can't believe she's having a baby!!
Sara: Dad, what are you going to have the baby call you?
Dad: ... The baby shall call me "grandfather". All the time. 'Sonny, get me a glass of milk.' 'Yes, Grandfather.'
Sara: Dad. You're having a grandchild, not a slave.
Dad: ONLY GRANDFATHER.
A lot of people have told me that I have the "gift of gab". Give me a rock, and I can have a conversation with it. Give me a microphone, and I am very, very happy. Give me an audience, and I'm even happier. I get this gift from my father. When I was younger and we would go somewhere, I HATED that it took my dad SO LONG to get out of the place, because he would talk to EVERYONE. And then, JUST as we're about to get into the car, he would see someone that he met once five years ago and hadn't seen them since and talk to THEM too.
I realize now that I am the exact same way. I can't help it. I like talking to people. And it's in my genes. Blame science, not me.
My dad is about one of the funniest people I know. He is also one of the most fair. Growing up with six siblings, there was pretty much constant fighting in the house. My poor mother had to deal with it the majority of the time, because Dad would be working outside. But when something big happened... Dad dealt with it. And we. were. scared. We would BEG my mom NOT TO TELL DAD. Sometimes she didn't. But when she did, it meant big trouble.
When we got in trouble with my dad, he hardly ever would actually punish us. The disappointment and the stern talks were enough for all 7 of us to cry and swear that it would never happen again. It really, really sucked.
When I moved back to this wonderful country of ours in August, my parents were nice enough to give me a job on their farm so that I could save some money while I looked for a full-time job. For four months, I worked with my dad outside every day. Sometimes, I hated the work. Absolutely despised it. But I didn't mind it as much when I was working side by side with my dad. Over those four months, my dad became one of my closest friends and confidants.
Last fall, Peter and I got into a big fight, mostly because we were both having a hard time only seeing each other on weekends, and we were getting fed up with living at least 3 hours apart for the entire 2 years we had been dating. The morning after we had this fight, I had to go out to the barn and feed calves. I was being really impatient, and was getting really upset about stupid things, and my dad noticed.
I think that my dad knew why I was so upset, but he asked anyways. I completely broke down at 4:30 in the morning in the barn with my dad and told him everything. How I didn't know what to do, and how it was just awful, and Peter and I were both so frustrated, and I just UGH didn't know how to fix it. My dad stood in the barn and just listened to me. He let me cry and yell and stomp my foot like a child. When I was done, he didn't offer me any advice. He looked at me and said, "Let me just give you a hug." And that was it. And it made me feel so much better.
The next day, we were in the tool shed, and my dad brought up the fight Peter and I had. "Sar, I hate to bring this up again, but I know that everything will work out. You and Peter both have good heads on your shoulders, and you'll figure it out. I know it." Later that day I told my mom how great my dad is. She nodded her head and said, "I know. He really is."
When I have exciting news, my dad is one of the first people that I call. He's also one of the first people I call when I am faced with a tough decision, had a rough day, or have a dumb story to tell. For how much he talks, my dad is an amazing listener. I really, really miss working with my dad every day.
I started reading Tina Fey's biography. She is fricking hilarious. Her book has this whole chapter where she talks about her dad. The good, the bad, and the funny. You know, if I were ever going to write a biography, I would write a whole chapter about my dad, too.
Because he deserves a whole chapter.
Happy Father's Day, to the best dad in the world.
This brought tears to my eyes. I look back fondly on the time I was milking with your dad. The laughter and advice touched my soul. Uncle Mart, you are the best!
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