tribute to my father

Earlier today, I noticed my "O" key was stuck. I know to fix it by pulling off the key and wiping the dust beneath, but I usually just pound until the letter pops up on the screen. In tribute to my father, today I pulled it off.

Last week my dad came to visit me from Michigan. He came to Denver for vacation, but his visit was consumed with activities I would consider the opposite of relaxing. He helped me move two carloads of boxes and furniture. He bought cleaning supplies and cleaned my new apartment.  He fixed about a hundred broken things on my car. (Though the tape job he did on my broken driver's side mirror has since melted out of place, it was a really awesome and helpful gesture.)

I had braced myself for it, but my father helped without lecturing or imposing guilt. I imagine that from his perspective I'm his prodigal daughter, trying to find herself on the other side of the country while he wakes up each morning hoping for an end to the adage and to find me working a real job, owning a house with a husband and some kids, within a three-hour drive of home. I keep waiting for the fuse to blow, but for now, all systems are functional. He lets me live out my haphazard existence and helps me pick up some of the pieces whenever he's around.

Happy belated Father's Day, dad. You deserve canonization, but the best I can do right now is the card and bag of coffee I'll be mailing you tomorrow.

(Also, may Rodney King rest in peace and the Thunder tie up the series tonight. And may my indoor hockey team beat Spencer and Schui's team by a double digit margin. Amen)