Oh Daddio

I'm going to tell you a little bit about my Dad today.

My Dad is a cowboy. A cowboy with a PhD in...Animal Science? A really smart cowboy.

My Dad likes to work. He's always working on something, and its usually BIG. A few weeks ago when my parents were in town for my Mom's birthday, I woke Cory up early so we could get on the road. As Cory prepared himself, physically and mentally, for a Saturday of intense yard work with his Father-in-law, I reassured that it couldn't possibly be that bad. Jesse had checked in on the yard the weekend before and did some work, and my Dad had already had the previous day to work on mowing, weed-eating, watering, and whatever else it is that people do with their yards. All the hard stuff was done! It'll be a walk in the park! Cory looked at me like he really, really wanted to believe me, but his eyes betrayed him.

I wish you could have seen his face as we drove up to their house. We round the final bend in the small road leading up to their house, and the first thing we see is a huge tree completely dismembered in the front lawn. Huge limbs were strewn about everywhere. Leaves and tiny twigs flew through the air. My Dad in the middle of it all, wielding his chainsaw with careful abandon.


How I wish I had a picture of it to show you. Needles to say, Cory had a fun-fulled, tree-cuttin' and haulin' afternoon. And he LOVED it, Dad. Really. He did.

My Dad saved my life, at least once that I know of. Probably more. When we lived on the ranch growing up, he would take us with him as he worked with the cows. (Little known fact about me: I've seen a lot of crazy cow related things. A lot. You've never really lived until you've seen your Dad tie a rope to a baby cow and pull it out of its mother.) Anyway, one day my dad angered a cow. It was really mad. I was...five years old? Maybe? And minding my own business. So much so, that I didn't hear the shouts for me to get out of the way of this angry, charging cow. I also didn't see the cow. Somehow my dad got to me before the cow and snatched me up just in time. Thanks, Dad.

Also, it was a really long time before my Dad let me go back on the rounds with him.

It was probably for the best.

My parents 30 year anniversary was earlier this month.

Speaking of the rounds, whenever I did go with him, we would be in the truck driving down the road, and we'd see the prettiest sunrises. My dad would sing a few lines of the Beatles, "Here Comes the Sun" to us, and I (We? I feel like my little brother Sam was there.) would refuse to believe that it was the sun. "NO, Dad." I insisted. "That is an ORANGE."  And he would laugh. But I still say, If the shoe FITS. You know?

Here he is with his first grandson, Master Jefferson, after my wedding.

I'm a lot like my mom. Right down to ALWAYS burning the last batch of cookies and an inability to tan. But I've got some of my Dad in me too. He hides it, but he's got some quirky spunk.  I'll always remember the shock he gave me when he offered to push me around Lowe's in a wheelbarrow he was purchasing. I was 14 at the time, and a little too self conscious to take you up on it, but try me again sometime.

There's so much more I love about my Dad. He built me bunk beds one weekend. He refinished countless pieces of furniture with for me. He steadfastly ate the mushiest, tasteless, over boiled pasta salad that I made for dinner once when I was twelve.  He tried to do my hair for school once when I was in second grade and my mom was teaching early morning seminary. (It wasn't pretty...but it means a lot that you tried!). Also, it had to be said, you can rock a 'stache. And that is no small feat.

I love that he's carrying my Mom's wedding dress and purse in this photo.

I love you Dad! Happy Father's Day!!