I’ve posted repeatedly about three fourths of my family. But, I realized that I’ve never really written much about my dad. I’m too busy complaining about the other two.
My dad is an awesome guy. He’s put up with my mom’s crap for twenty three years. And he managed to make sure that I didn’t go totally insane.
When I was home schooled, he taught me and my sister more than our mother ever did. While Mom had us reading Amish primers, Dad was getting me hooked on Dracula, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings. All of which my dear mother considered evil. While she neglected our education all day long, Dad would come home and ask us geography questions. It’s thanks to him that I managed to pass my high school geography class with a B+ without doing most of the homework, and get 100% on all the tests without studying.
While Mom was always the one restricting us and telling us what we couldn’t do because it wasn’t appropriate, Dad was the laid back one who could be firm if we got out of line, but generally allowed us to be who we wanted to be. He taught me about Christmas lights and computers, geography and science, music and books. That living in a hoarder’s house isn’t normal. Most importantly, he’s taught me that humor is an important part of life.
Every one of my friends who meets my parents share an opinion—my mom is scary and crazy. My dad is really cool. He’s the funny old guy who tells all the jokes, and is unfailingly generous.
Of course, Dad isn’t perfect. He’s terrifying when he’s angry. He’s a highly conservative homophobe. He gets road rage. But I’m incredibly grateful for him.
Without him, I know I wouldn’t have turned out so well. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would have become a sociopath. All seriousness and none of that sarcastic and very witty sense of humor. No androgynous qualities in sight. A proper lady who wears dresses and sits up straight and speaks when spoken to—and becomes a serial killer. Or who, conversely, is a victim all her life.
Thanks to Daddy, I’m better than that.