To my father, purveyor of the Old Man Dance

So this is not a ranty post.

SUPRISE! I’m capable of occasionally writing in a different style. I know, I know, I have many hidden talents. For one, I can open doors using my toes.

But I just felt like writing this. I don’t really talk about the other people in my life much on here, unless it’s a quote or a brief mention due to some crazy thing happening in my world, but here it goes.

So I have this Dad.

And for the past numerous years, I’m too lazy to actually count, he’s been living about an hour to two hours away from me. My parents are still married. The location is due to his work.  Our relationship hasn’t always been spectacular as we both suffer from that stereotypical disease where our communications skills suddenly revert back to caveman times any time we get into a disagreement or misunderstanding. Which is a lot.

But lately we’ve been getting along pretty well. And I guess I felt like writing this because the other day, when all the drama happened with crazypants, my Dad had this really sweet moment where instead of going home (like he almost always does) after our brief  outing to the Alternate Reality Door Store, he decided to drop by my house bearing food.

It was nice.

To just have a short visit. I can only think of a handful of times in the last 6 odd years where we’ve actually just sat alone together. There’s always someone else around or customers calling (he lives on his marina).

Despite our total lack of communication skills (which we totally have great communication skills UNLESS we are talking to each other) I enjoy my father’s company quite a bit.

Growing up my Dad has always done things to “embarrass” me. Or at least that’s what he says. I’ve actually very rarely been embarrassed of my Father. His attempts at embarrassment were really just him being goofy and since we are, as a whole, a goofy family, normally it’s just a bit of fun.

Something I will always remember fondly is my father’s Old Man Dance, in which he would stand stock still, and then do some form of disco/hip bump in robotically slow movements.

I have numerous pictures of him doing this dance using a fork as his “disco finger” during the holidays.

So here’s to my Dad, who sometimes bugs the piss outta me, but whom I love very much.

Wait for it…

Boogie Down!