Dads.
Dads are dope. They come in all shapes and sizes. From the Dad bod to the DILF. The football fanatic to the softie who will go to The Devil Wears Prada premiere with you. Dads just get it.
So thank you, Dad. My Dad is cool. I will never tell him that, and will vehemently deny that I said it in this article. Can't let him know he's humorous - then he'll never stop with the jokes. But Dad, oh dad. My dad taught me endless jokes. Most are not funny. But, he taught me to laugh at my own jokes. At least you can always make yourself laugh!
He came to all my tennis matches. Sat quietly whether I won or lost, and got me ice cream after. Told me I am golden, regardless of who I love, spend time with, or marry. Supported me when I told him I used to confuse Michigan and Wisconsin on a map until I got into UW. Although I'll admit that was dumb.
My dad taught me how to be brave. When you're afraid, just scare whatever you are afraid of into submission. So I scream at my midterms before filling in my ID number and kill spiders with a sledgehammer. Charlotte never had a chance in that web.
How to know that bad things come in threes. So when two bad things happen, don't step on cracks or under ladders. Or do both to expedite whatever bad thing has to happen. But once it does, dance in the rain because good things are coming your way.
You could say I'm my dad's number one fan. That would be accurate. We are both Ndamukong Suh's number one fan. We both love hats, especially ones of hated teams. It's why I wear my Yankees hat in Chicago while he sports his Oakland Athletics one at Miller Park. We match in integrity.
Love ya, Dad. Keep inspiring me on the daily, like you have for the past 20 years.
