**My dad's birthday is on Thursday, but I'm impatient and wanted to post this today! Why not celebrate all week, right?! Happy Birthday Daddy!**
Everybody thinks that their dad is the best. The strongest, the smartest, the most capable of beating up some other dad. As a bratty 10-year old, I remember saying things like, "Ya, well...my dad will sue your dad!" He joked about “strongly-worded letters” to anybody who messed with his kiddo girl. That’s what he calls me, even to this day. I guess for a dad, your daughter never really grows up. I moved out, pay my own bills, make my own decisions (mostly) and yet, I’m still his little girl.
It's true, though, that my dad is the best. He's frustratingly intelligent. He knows something about everything. When your dad is Michael J. Kimball, Esq., you learn to articulate and argue well out of necessity. And you still can't out-argue him. But in the meantime, you learn a lot: about the power of words and the importance of knowledge, among many other things. It was my daddy that taught me most of what I know. In Junior High, he'd attempt to explain chemical reactions and concepts of economics to me, things like depreciation and elasticity. Then he'd build a bookshelf or teach me to change the tires on my car, check the air pressure, drive a manual or even tow a boat. When I brag about being able to do those things, I'm actually bragging about my dad, the most versatile person I know, who lovingly took the time to teach and equip me for all kinds of life situations and anything involving an engine.
So yes, I'll brag about my dad. It is his birthday, after all. Sure, he can be embarrassing at times. Maybe a little too protective in line for the ski lift, kind of a crazy driver. We don't see eye-to-eye on everything, and I've come to grips with his humanity; but still, he's my dad and he's the best man I've ever known.
He used to read to me, every night before bed. Silly books like “Feelings” and “Firehorse.” (My book choice alone proves how much he loves me...) He is personally responsible for my “just one more chapter before I go to sleep” habit.
He handled a crazy teenage daughter and crazier teenage son like no other single dad I’ve met. He’d laugh when I dramatically stomped up the stairs and slammed the door, but he’d apologize if he knew that he had hurt me. He’d rub my back when I cried, take me to Target when I needed a new turtleneck, watch North Shore with us for the 142nd time. He never stopped telling us how much he loved us. I never doubted it for a second.
After my brother moved out, it was just the two of us. Every night we would have dinner together: Cafe Tandoor or Taco Bell (he is personally responsible for my Taco Bell obsession). We’d discuss politics and faith and eventually, I started trusting him with boys. He became privy to stories and dreams and jokes about paying for my wedding (which he still doesn’t find all that funny...). When I moved to San Diego, he became my best friend. I told everybody stories about how cool my dad is and made them watch the slideshow I made for his 50th birthday. I reverted back to elementary school: “my dad is better than your dad.” My dad can fly. My dad can read an entire book in one day. He can fix any computer problem and can count backwards from 100 by 3.
He set the standard high. By loving my brother and I the way that he does, he’s set the standard high.
They say you’ll end up with someone like your dad. I probably won’t marry a conservative and I wouldn’t be surprised if my husband doesn’t know how to construct a cheese cave.
But you can hold me to this:
He will be strong and fearless
he will love unconditionally
he will read to me before bed and rub my back when I cry
he will encourage me to follow my dreams
he will remind me to see the big picture
he will make difficult decisions for the sake of his family
he will shamelessly listen to tacky music (Really, dad?! Liz Phair?!)
he will make me proud to bear his last name.
Happy Birthday to the Best Daddy There Ever Was!
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