Father’s Day

Years ago, I somehow started the habit of asking my dad for a favor on Father’s Day.

No, not as long ago as that picture. More like a decade.

It all started when I moved into a place of my own, and I received permission from property management to install a closet organizer. Well, this closet was smaller than what the kit was designed for, so I ended up with a metal bar that just wouldn’t fit. I was feeling particularly poor and didn’t want to spend money on a saw that I would only use once, and Father’s Day was coming up, so I waited until I went to visit him. The favor I asked was to use his saw. I had this entire preamble about how I felt so bad asking him for a favor on Father’s Day, and I truly did. The next thing I know my dad is walking back with a shorter version of my bar, cut exactly to the size I needed it. Dad apologized for it not being quite even. I couldn’t tell that it wasn’t even, and it was so much better than anything I could have done on my maiden saw voyage. I was tickled pink! My clothes had a home off of the floor, and it looked wonderful!

Other favors have included a ride to the airport for when I moved to England, help finding an affordable used car when I returned home, and installing a new faucet in my kitchen when the old one broke.  He has always done this willingly, and most of the time enthusiastically. Admittedly, he was worried about his daughter moving abroad, and not so pleased when my return flight two years later was delayed (and delayed and delayed) and didn’t arrive until after midnight.

This year’s favor? Letting me write this post.

My dad is the best car price negotiator on the planet. We hit at least a half dozen dealerships in searching for my used car, and he tried not to look too concerned when I had to verify which side of the street I needed to turn  into during our test drive (two years in the UK can mess with one’s sense of which side is “right”).  We sat there patiently during the whole “Let me talk to the manager” part, even holding a completely fictional conversation about what he had researched at the next dealership in case the office we were sitting in was bugged.

After everything was signed and my money was handed over, I took Dad to HomeTown Buffet for lunch to thank him. We got to the front, and he pulls out his wallet! That would have completely defeated the “thank you” part, so it was put away without being opened after I thrust my credit card forward. We had a great lunch and a chance to catch up. It was definitely good being home. As we left the restaurant and walked back out to the new-to-me car he asked, “What is all that fluid under your car?” I panicked and ran up to it, only to see him laughing. Thanks, Dad!

No really. Thanks, Dad … for everything. I love you.