Dad

I wanted to write about Dad. Hopefully he won't be reading this, because every time I write about him he says I'm writing his eulogy. Dad came into my life when I was three years old, then finally married my Mom (after shacking up for 30 years ha ha!) when I was 33 years old! All my life I've called him Jeff, but when he married Mom, with great relief and pride I started calling him Dad. So now I have Dad and My Dad.

Here, you can see his wheels turning. He's coming up with something really important to say, and you know it's going to be a doozy. That's why I kept the camera up and clicking. What he said here at first was, "You know, I've been noticing something about how you and your Mom are so alike. . . . "

In these pictures, taken at this time last year and the ones to follow in future posts, Dad's 85. All my life this man would tease me unmercifully. He never stepped into a "father" role with us kids, but I think that's because he didn't want to usurp My Dad. Still, I learned more than he ever intended! I also knew he would be there for me in a heartbeat if I ever needed him, but boy, I tried so hard not to need him. I couldn't handle the five weeks of teasing that would follow! I'm learning this is a definite cowboy trait. Comedians, all of 'em (see http://www.thepioneerwoman.com/ and read about her pesky brother-in-law, Tim).

So, he continues his train of thought of Mom and I by spreading his hands out:

" . . . both of you are THIS wide!"

Now, just look at the smugness on his face here. I can hear him laughing! Yes, when I married Himself I weighed 93 pounds. Now, I've turned 40 and . . . I do NOT weigh 93 pounds. I'm in the healthy range for my age and height, but do you think I tried to tell HIM that? Of course not! He wouldn't have listened, anyway. Just because HE has jeans he wore in his twenties and can still wear them . . . . Not kidding. He has jeans so old they have completely faded to WHITE, and he still wears them. Cowboys don't give up on a garment just because there's some age to them. I've also never, and I mean NEVER, seen him wear a short-sleeved shirt. He's worked in the sun all day, all his life, and he's the whitest man I know except for his hands, neck, and face. More on that, later.