I Love My Dad

Wayne. My dad.

The older I get, the more people I run into that share

their childhood with me.

More people than I care to think of did not have a good

childhood.

I did.

My parents did not divorce, we didn't live in shacks, we always had food and Christmas presents.

But most of all, I had dad.

He didn't hand me money, but he changed the oil in my cars.

He never took me to Disneyland, but he did take me

to Lake Wilson.

He isn't the smartest man in world, but I'd

rather spend a week with him than anybody.

He could possibly be the funniest man in the world.

He has a song for every possible thing that can happen.

If I had a dime for every time he slapped me with a piece of bologna, I'd buy a Ford Flex.  Loaded.

He built tree houses, took walks and moved bricks.

Or more like it, had my sister and I move them.

Bricks are made to move.

Rocks are made to be found and saved.

Hoses are made to spray people.

Pork chops are to be eaten 4 times a week.

TV's are for game shows.

Hospitals are made to work at.

Leftover wood is for little shelves.

Orange spray paint is for garage doors.

Old car tags are for the sides of those garages.

Burmuda grass is good over septic tanks.

Trees should be named.

You need sunflower seeds.

My dad eats the whole apple except for the stem.

Over the mouth and through the gums,

Watch out tummy,

Here it comes.

I won't go into how he eats a bowl of cereal.

You'd just have to be there.

Love you dad.

(after he got his leg amputated, he wanted to apply for a job at I-HOP)