Yes, I still call my father “daddy”.
And no, it’s not creepy. It’s sweet.
When I hit 40? Then it will be creepy.
I was really glad my dad suggested going for a father daughter run yesterday afternoon. I haven’t gone in a few days as I’ve been staying in Parkland, and have no one to
come with protect me. I’m just going to be frank here — unless getting curb stomped is your idea of a good time, don’t go running in Parkland alone. I’m allowed to say this as I grew up here, and have parents who were mugged a few blocks from our house earlier this year. Plus, while I’ve clearly never been curb stomped, I’ve had men in creepy vans try to pick me up on more occasions than I care to remember. I’m also pretty sure the neighbor’s horse farm is a coverup for a meth lab.
This be the ‘hood.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. But that still doesn’t mean I want to go jogging alone.
Luckily, dad was prepared to throw down if necessary.
Okay…so he didn’t bring these along with the intention of hurting anyone. He was actually looking for dead blackberry vines. Last night was Good Friday, and he wanted to craft a homemade crown of thorns to place on the altar at church. Apparently he discovered the Easter crafts section on Pinterest.
I can’t say I was all that surprised…he has a bizarre habit of carrying weapons for totally unusual purposes. For years he kept a giant machete in the backseat of his pickup truck. I always assumed it was for self-defense, until he explained to me one day that it was for on-the-go watermelon slicing.
Of course. I mean…why wouldn’t you slice watermelon with an old world sledge-hammer?
But again — this is Parkland. You can never be too careful. Crown of thorns or street fight…I felt safer having dad with clippers in hand.
My dad is almost sixty-four years old, and in excellent shape. He warned me that he was “getting older” and “not able to run like he used to” because of his faulty knees and a recent back surgery. “You’ll have to go slow for me, Trina…”, he warned.
He then proceeded to continuously lap me for sixty minutes while repeatedly asking, “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”
Oh…and then there was the part where he ran ahead of me and did twenty pull-ups on the PLU track equipment before catching up with me again and asking if I was ready to “sprint the straights.”
I desperately struggled to keep up. This was my view the entire time.
I’m just glad he was fully clothed. Anyone who knows my dad understands he has a habit of wearing as little clothing as possible during his two favorite pastimes: running, and sunbathing.
The fact that he’s actually wearing full length shorts and a t-shirt is nothing short of miraculous.
In related news, I literally received this note from my sister while typing that last sentence. Talk about timing.
I think this proves that nearly naked running/sunbathing is a dominant genetic trait.
I rolled my eyes and thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t inherited such immodesty. And then I remembered the incident at the naked spa and realized invisible eyebrows weren’t the only thing my dad’s passed on to me.
We had neared the end of our five-mile run, the finale of which was running up a very long, very steep hill to the cul-de-sac my parents live in. To this day, I still desperately want to impress my dad. I ran up next to him, yelled out “I’m going to eat this hill for dinner!”, and sprinted with all my might.
It was torture.
But dad made it all worth it. “Wow, Trina! You’ve really gotten into good shape. Your legs looked strong on that hill!”
Shapely and hairless, no? But I’ll take strong any day. Especially when it’s coming from this guy.
Yup, still saying “daddy.” Deal with it.
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