A Father.

I kept wanting to write something about my father on Father’s Day but I was too busy bitching because our a/c was out.

Here is my Daddy. He doesn’t have long hair like this anymore, although he rocked it for several decades. People say I look like my mother, but in this picture, I think I look just like him.

I read recently (okay, fine, it was in Tina Fey’s book which I am completely obsessed with) that one of the main ingredients in raising a not-slutty, responsible, drug-free daughter is a strong father figure. 

I have that. My father marches to the beat of his own drum, which taught me it’s okay to be an individual. He also commanded respect, which made me afraid to disappoint him. Because my Daddy treats my mother the way that he does, I demand the same treatment from my husband.

It’s hard to be a good parent. Mine did just fine.

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