Today is my dad's birthday. (Okay, yesterday was, but I'm backdating this blog entry, so the date here will be correct.) So I'm writing this blog to say happy birthday, since I am unable to attend the family dinner in his honor. Al says happy birthday, too.
One of my favorite memories--growing up, anyway--is when you used to let me dance (or walk) on your feet. I think that's something special that little girls do with their dads, and I'm glad you let me do it with you. Although I must have been quite old (and heavy) the last time you let me do it, because I remember being outside of the old gym at Calvary Baptist Church. We were on the sidewalk walking up to the doors. I would have been at least thirteen, since that's when we switched churches. No wonder you grumbled a little!
I also loved it that you took each one of us out to eat alone with you. That seemed so special (especially since we rarely went out to eat as a family). Hmm. I don't remember any of the places I picked to eat at, though. I was (am) such a picky eater. Do you remember? Was it pizza every time? Or Mexican? I bet it was Mexican.
I know this isn't exactly waxing poetic, but the point is that I love you and hope you had a happy birthday. You're the bestest dad in the whole wide world.
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