Happy Father’s Day!

Today is Father’s Day, and I feel like such a turd because since we were all down for my brother’s graduation, none of us will be home for Father’s Day.  But in honor of the day, I will bring you an important story/memory I have of my dad.

DadThat’s my pops there in the middle.

So my dad is a really good person.  Like he always tries to do the right thing, and that has been very very deeply instilled in me, and is probably largely the reason I went into a helping field.

So years ago, like maybe 14 or 15 years ago, we were moving into a new house.

The movers were doing an awesome job, and stayed late into the night moving our furniture into our new house.  They were sweaty, and tired, and seemed to not know very much English, and their boss-man, a white guy, had left them to their own devices.

Debbie came to me and told me that she had witness one of the guys desperately drinking water straight from the faucet in my parent’s bathroom, and that when she entered, that he’d startled, and looked frightened, as if he was sure that he was going to be in trouble for drinking sink water from the faucet in a rich person’s home.

I told my dad what Debbie had seen, and he immediately drove to the nearest gas station, bought a ton of Gatorade, and asked the men to please have a seat and enjoy something to drink.

As a young teen, for whatever reason, this small act of kindness made a big impression on me.

I certainly never felt like we were any better than the men moving our furniture, and my dad confirmed it for me.  The guys were hot and thirsty and scared to communicate it to us, so he took the bull by the horns and made sure that they were taken care of, and then sat with them.  To me, it communicated a few things.

  • Be kind…
  • …’Cause everyone gets thirsty
  • You never know when you will be thirsty
  • And you’re not better than anyone else.

A simple lesson, but it has stayed with me forever.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there!

It’s 3 in the morning. And I have to run in like 4 hours.

But I could not, could not, could NOT go to sleep without telling you guys this story.

I knew I had to run 13ish tomorrow, but the boys, including the dear fiancé, the almond milk to my latté, were out celebrating a bachelor party. No problem. I stayed in. Munched on some treats. Slept. Applied for a game show (yep). Napped on the couch some more. Checked my bank account (yeesh). And did all the weird stuff you do when your boys are out.

Just before 2am, I get the call, please come pick us up. Great, no problem, better safe than Lohan, and I was more than happy to do it, as long as the boys got home safely.

Here’s where stuff just starts to get wild.

We’re driving down Glenwood, and we see a guy laying in the street, presumably drunk. We pull the party bus, Mitsubishi Lancer Armstrong over, and begin to investigate where the heck this guy is from, who he’s with and all that good stuff.

I pulled out his iPhone, as he is comfortably now napping on the porch of a vacant house. I call “Jill”, whom I find out just met him at the bar, and who doesn’t really know him. I call “Hendrix”. I look at his texts for clues. Earlier that evening he was “dancing with some hoochies” in case you were curious. So between me and Austin, we locate his friends, who are slightly more coherent than our friend, Christian, who doesn’t know where he’s staying, is, but only by a hair. The friends roll up, but not before starting fights with every passer-by who looks at them crookedly, and I hear dear Austin, repeatedly tell them to calm down.

The friends are here! We’re almost off the hook! But Christian is asleep on the porch. So what does any logically-thinking human being do? If you thought “gently wakes his friend up,” you guessed wrong. “James,” the upstanding young gentleman in the mandarin shorts, snaps a picture of his friend for Instagram, pulls out his junk, and begins to *ahem* relieve himself on the lawn of the home Christian is laying on. Austin orders him to put it away and “act sober,” to which James threatens to “kick the ass” of the folks he fought with earlier. I get to work waking Christian up, and Hendrix, who smells distinctly of beer and “hoochies” helps me get Christian up. And just as quickly as this bizarre drunky monkey wanders into our lives, they disappear down the hill without so much as a thanks.



“We did the right thing, babe.”

And I snapped a pic so we’d never forget the night Christian from Fayetteville nap-danced into our lives.