Daddy-o!

In honor of Fathers Day, I present to you my father circa 1971. My dad and I have a healthy, but strange father-son relationship which includes small talk usually over several beers. Many people say that I get my temperament (not to mention charming good looks!) from my father. The man has the patience of a saint, but let things build up a little too much, and one small thing will send him (or anyone in his path) overboard. I consider myself to be pretty much the same way.

As I get older, I am also beginning to realize that I not only inherited his temperament, but also tinges of his anal-retentiveness and need for things to be organized. Not just tidied up in a pile, but turbo-organized. Now, in my defense, I'm not nearly as filed and labeled as my father (yet), but I'm close. The first time he came to my apartment and saw that my dress shirts were organized in my closet by color he was beaming with pride. Keep in mind that this is also the an who has every bank statement and canceled check from the past 20 years. While helping me move a huge recliner that my parents have given to me which was bought several years before I was born, I joked about him still hanging on the sales receipt for the thing. Sure enough, upon return home, he sorted through some file folders, found one labeled "1980" and there was the damned receipt. So why do my forks have to be facing the same direction, or my belts rolled and stacked in the drawer? My Pops.

So here's to you Daddy-o, and all fathers. Happy Fathers Day!