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21st June 2010

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I missed out on all the Father’s Day posts yesterday, but today is actually my Dad’s birthday so I figure I’m not too late. I have an unfortunate habit of maiming my body through the course of daily events. Currently, I have no less than 3 scrapes and two mystery bruises on legs that are otherwise riddled with scars, one cut on each hand from trying to open twist off beers this weekend, a sore spot on my head from standing up in the refrigerator too fast, and strange brown spots on my hands that the internet tells me may be from getting lime juice on them and then standing in the sun. (I’m just going to go with it.) Until a few days ago, I had whiplash. In college, waking up with mysteries bruises after a night of doing nothing more strenuous that going to librar, was so common that my sweet and rather featherweight roommate used to joke that she beat me up in my sleep. Anyways, my point is that, in one of those spontaneous familial bonding moments that sometimes occur, especially when you’ve been away from your family members for a while, I realized there is a good chance I inherited this tendency of being assaulted by stationary objects from my father, who, in the course of his brief weekend visit, got two bloody toes and perhaps a rug burn of sorts from a dog leash. Last time they came down for a visit, he had to go get stitches for bumping his head. So thank you, Dad, for teaching me to not be afraid to go at life with gusto. (That, but the way, is a picture of my dads legs. There is a lot of dog toy about to be tossed.)

I missed out on all the Father’s Day posts yesterday, but today is actually my Dad’s birthday so I figure I’m not too late.

I have an unfortunate habit of maiming my body through the course of daily events. Currently, I have no less than 3 scrapes and two mystery bruises on legs that are otherwise riddled with scars, one cut on each hand from trying to open twist off beers this weekend, a sore spot on my head from standing up in the refrigerator too fast, and strange brown spots on my hands that the internet tells me may be from getting lime juice on them and then standing in the sun. (I’m just going to go with it.) Until a few days ago, I had whiplash. In college, waking up with mysteries bruises after a night of doing nothing more strenuous that going to librar, was so common that my sweet and rather featherweight roommate used to joke that she beat me up in my sleep.

Anyways, my point is that, in one of those spontaneous familial bonding moments that sometimes occur, especially when you’ve been away from your family members for a while, I realized there is a good chance I inherited this tendency of being assaulted by stationary objects from my father, who, in the course of his brief weekend visit, got two bloody toes and perhaps a rug burn of sorts from a dog leash. Last time they came down for a visit, he had to go get stitches for bumping his head.

So thank you, Dad, for teaching me to not be afraid to go at life with gusto.

(That, but the way, is a picture of my dads legs. There is a lot of dog toy about to be tossed.)

  1. tumbemployment posted this