Tomorrow is Father’s Day.  I think we can all remember the #1 Dad tee-shirts that we bought our dad’s as kids or the homemade ash-trays/belts/key chains/coffee mugs that we made for them.  I think I did all of these things.

My dad and I have always shared a special bond that I think transcends the average father-daughter connection.  See, I was accidentally born at home.  My dad delivered me, was my attending physician although he’s not a doctor-he’s an electrician.  My dad quite literally brought me into the world.  Cut my umbilical cord himself.  Called the ambulance for me and my mom so we could go to the hospital and get checked out.  He did that.

My dad taught me love of football.  My passion for the Denver Broncos, twenty-one years after moving to Arkansas, began watching dad cheer for the great Orange Crush teams of the eighties.  My dad taught me everything I know about cars, home-improvement, and general handiman-ness.  My dad coached my soccer team when I was a kid, built sets for the theater department when I was in high school, and taught me how to drive a standard (something everyone should be able to do).  He took me camping as a kid, taught me to ride a bike, and took me sledding.

So, dad, thanks.  I love you.

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