Last week my dad turned 60. It's not that old, but it's still... well, old.
I held a surprise party for him. Invited a bunch of people from work and his closest friends. My dad teared up when he showed up to my house, thinking that we were running late for our dinner reservations, and instead walked into a room with nearly 30 people.
It was in that moment that I realized that my dad hates surprises as much as I do. Clearly, this apple didn't fall far from that tree. Sorry, Dad to put you through that stress.
Good thing he's the best dad in the whole wide world and rolled with the punches. Although, I got the impression that his emotions felt like the picture above -- all blurry and out of control.
There aren't enough words in the English dictionary to explain the love that I have for my father. At least, there isn't a way for me to describe it without tearing up myself. My dad has always been my rock, my constant, the person that "gets me" above all others. The hardest part of the evening was realizing that my dad is getting older. And that one day (hopefully in another 30 years or longer), my dad won't be living. I know, I know, we are all mortal. But my dad has always seemed larger than life.
Whoa, this all got depressing all of a sudden.
For those of you that know my dad, you know what I'm talking about. He's personality barely fits in a room. He's vibrant. And loud. Really loud. He's funny. And he has a obnoxious laugh just like me. He's good, no great, at everything. He's just simply fan-frickin'-tastic.
I love you, Dad.
