Sunday, June 19, 2011

My Old Man

Though I may not always be the best at vocalizing it, as far as fathers go, I have to say I have a pretty good one. He has his flaws and shortcomings, but the good things about him sure overshadow them.

I am so grateful that I have a father that treats my mother like he does. Out of anything that my father has ever taught me in my life I believe that has been the most important. She has always said that even though as a non-member at first, he was a bit rough around the edges. Despite that, no one ever treated her better than him. Nothing in my life has ever made me think otherwise. I know they have had hard times and struggles, but I have never had to question the way my parents felt about each other, nor worry about their commitment.

Being a convert my dad was thrown into a world much different than that of his earlier years. There was a lot of changing for him to do, and even though he wasn't or still isn't perfect, he has never wavered in his testimony that I know of. He has never been anything but a great example of what a member of the church and a priesthood holder should be.

He has never been afraid to help others. Since the day this happened, I don't believe I have ever brought this story up to him or to anyone else, but it has been one that I have reflected back on numerous times over the years. On a cold day in Idaho (what?!?! I know, they have one occasionally) we had driven over to shovel his parents' driveway. Driving home, we noticed an older women shoveling hers. Without thought my dad hit the brakes. Sensing what was coming, I immediately started pleading my dad not to go back. I was a teenager, I was cold, and I'm sure I thought there was something else I should be doing. She really didn't have much left, and after several seconds of my pleading he gave in. As we drove off, with a slightly pained voice he said something to the extent of, "Please don't ever make me do that again." For years and years of my life I've regretted that decision. I am so grateful for his example and willingness to help others around him always and hope I won't ever be a detriment to that again.

I am sure he would not say he was the greatest father, but to three children he was. Though he lied to Christin about Santa Claus, set me down in alligator infested waters (it really isn't as bad as it sounds), and fought with Candice through most of her life (can you really blame him though? she is just as stubborn as he is), he has always been there for us. He's been there for Christin's 24 graduation ceremonies, Candice's wedding, picked me up from my mission, and bawled like a baby at everyone. Though he might be a bit old for us to dog pile on now without us worrying about him breaking a hip, he will always be the perfect dad to us.

The dad who would nap with me.

The dad who gave me tongs so I could hold the first fish I caught.

Was the proudest dad ever of his missionary son.

The dad who was there to show me the way.

And occasionally even wipe away my tears.

Happy Father's Day.

New . . . Old Things

One of the best things about the Living Social website is their 365 things to do list. Browsing through there on Monday we came across this place, MacAlpine's Soda Fountain. And it's so cool!! It's this old vintage shop/restaurant that has been there since 1928. The booths are super cool and old, there's tiny juke boxes on the tables (that don't play the songs you select, but still cool). The food there was pretty good, and then you get to look through or try on all of their old stuff after. The waitress isn't very friendly though. Don't bother trying to talk to her. Despite her not very happy to be listening to the same songs over and over again on the tiny juke boxes attitude, we will definitely be back.

Oh Mary

I really don't have much to say. Except that her little sister Mary is darling. And likes me at least one out of every four times that I come over. This is her, liking me this day because of the app Talking Ben. I will post the video of it before too long.

Proof There's Really Nothing Going On In My Head. And More Blood & Guts.

This also made the "Bodies Worlds" exciting. Groupon had a half off deal for it, so even though I had already been once I decided to buy tickets for us and her parents. Because she had said she would kind of like to go.

The first time I visited the exhibit, it was a slightly busier day, but I still spent almost two hours there and read every word of every card. Being with a family of people who aren't quite as fascinated with anatomy as me, the time was cut down to forty-five minutes. And Brealynn had to walk behind me most of the time to block the vast majority of it. I was slightly worried the entire duration of it that I was going to be leaving with vomit on my back. True story.

Afterwards though we explored the rest of the Science Center. One of the most entertaining things was a machine that would roll a ball dependent on how much brain activity you had. The more you had, the closer the ball came towards you. The object of the game was to get the ball to the other person's side. Turns out girls are horrible at this. I beat Brealynn in all of about five or ten seconds. Then I played her father. After five or ten minutes of a stalemate, we gave up. See that little monitor by our sides? That measures the brain activity. My spikes were my occasional laughs when I would look up. But at least I have scientific proof now that when I say I'm thinking about nothing, I really mean it.

I even got to build stuff.

All in all it was a pretty good day.

I Didn't Really Need That Toe Anyways

Of all the differences we have, one of the most . . . inconvenient one is her aversion to blood. And my remarkable ability to find it. I feel bad for her sometimes. For example:

The other day we were in my room and I walked around the bed, kicking the corner as I rounded it. I yelled, complained a little that it hurt, and sat down on the bed. A few seconds later, I looked only to see my little toe spewing blood. A lot of it. Poor Brealynn almost added to the mess as she barely managed to hold down the contents of her stomach. I hurried to the bathtub and started hollering for Tom. Being the good guy he is, he brought me an old shirt and also cleaned up the bloody trail on the floor. It bled forever, and some more the next day when I reopened it. It was really impressive for how small of a cut it appeared to be. And now because I'm morbid (as well as all of my family) here are the pictures: