27w1d: Father's Day Redux

So, I updated yesterday's post to add a picture of the sneakers, just because they were too cute to resist. Also, I forgot to add last week's belly shot last week, even though I did take it, so I added it today.

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Yesterday, in addition to giving P a small pair of sneakers, we went to see my dad. I constantly have to remind myself that having one normal parent is more than a lot of people get, and for that I am very thankful. My dad is a semi-uptight, uber-intellectual, (now-retired) attorney. Growing up, my friends were afraid of him until they got to know him. He's not the warmest guy in the world (which I think was in part what was intimidating for friends -- that and the fact that they often didn't get his quirky sense of humor), but he knows that and has worked hard at it.

My dad taught me basic algebra and how to play backgammon when I was in elementary school and asked us science questions over dinner. He built us a play house in the basement with lights and shutters and a door that closed. And he videotaped all our birthdays and holidays (and filmed "slice of life" segments too, to ensure we didn't end up with a distorted sense of our family life), borrowing a camera from a local university before any normal person owned one -- he interviewed our friends on these tapes to be sure we'd all remember who was who and how we knew them when we watched the tapes 25 years later. We get together every Christmas to watch these old tapes, a tradition that began after my parents split up, when my dad became obsessed with creating new family traditions for the three of us, traditions that now involve P and my sister in law and my dad's fiancee. He's a great dad, even if he's not like most other great dads.


Thankfully, while I look quite a lot like my mother, my personality comes almost exclusively from my dad. You know, because he's not an alcoholic and, rather than being a narcissist, always has the interests of others foremost in his heart, even though others (namely, my brother) don't always see it that way (note to my wonderful but not always sensible brother: your interest isn't always furthered by being told what you want to hear).

I have never lived more than an hour and a half from my dad. He's getting remarried this summer (congrats Dad!), which means he'll be moving, ending up three hours away, which makes me sad. And the timing (right before the birth of his first grandchild) makes me especially sad. But I know it's what he has to do for himself, a constituency he considers far too little, and I'm glad he's doing it.

I love you, Dad!