a follow up, of sorts.

I am experiencing a need to express that I do not regret what I experienced growing up.  It was my struggle, and it made me a loving, compassionate, non-judging person, generally speaking.  I consider myself to be lucky in the sense that I grew up in a very loving and supportive household.  I love my parents dearly, and more than that, I like them very much.  I am lucky to have parents and siblings who are so open... we are lucky in the sense that we share a common bond besides "the curse."  We enjoy each other.  When it comes to my family, and how I grew up, I couldn't have gotten luckier.

I think of my dad, the smartest man I know.  Wonderful memories he helped to create despite the chaos that ruled my life.  Little things....  Waking up to beautiful music being blasted through the house at an unreasonable hour the mornings before road trips.  Looking at different planets and stars through his telescope that he would set up in the front yard.  Watching him shave, watching him shine his shoes.  I loved those moments, still remember how the shoe polish smelled.  You want me to shine your shoes?  I'll do a damn fine job, after watching my dad so many times.  He made whistles from some sort of green wood when we went camping.  My dad can whistle 3 ways that I remember, through his teeth looking like he's smiling, (Kristin can too), with his fingers (this was the call any of the sibs recognized at dinner time, no matter where you were on our block, I can do this one, although not awesomely) and normally, through puckered lips.  When we were at Yellowstone, and he was sporting his Smokey the Bear hat (he always wanted to be a forest ranger) people would actually think he WAS a forest ranger, and he would tell them about history, where to go to see what... and whatever else.  My dad is sweet, caring, genuine, loving, intelligent, open.  Has always treated my mother like gold.  He has been a constant in my life, for better or for worse, he was there.  And still always is.

I don't mean to discount my mom, and I will write about her soon, but tonight my focus is on my dad.   He has opened up his own blog, telling his story of being diagnosed with ALS.  I figured I should be as open with him as he is with me. 

Pardy, if you read this, I just want you to know how much I love you.  I often don't know how to say it or express it, but just know that I am honored to be your daughter.