Thank you for that time you only took me to EPCOT and left my brother and sister at home. We had a good time, and I still remember stopping at Perkins for the Mother Butler pie on our way home.
Thank you for going with me to the state spelling bee and not being disappointed that I missed such an easy word.
Thank you for teaching me how to drive a stick shift even though I accidentally confused the brake and the clutch and drove into the back wall of the garage, almost into our living room.
Thank you for helping me bury that old lady in the swamp when I killed her while practicing throwing ninja stars.
Thank you for shaming me with your awesome mustache that I can never achieve.
Thank you for going with me back to 1855 where we saved Doc Brown.
Thank you for coming to my baseball and flag football games, even though I hated playing and was about as bad as anyone could possibly be.
Thank you for never raising your voice consistently, making it necessary for me to learn to plan ahead for every eventuality.
Thank you for watching USA’s scary movies with me when they used to air on Saturdays and thank you for watching Twin Peaks with me even if I didn’t quite get it as a kid.
Thank you for selling me your car at blue book value.
Thank you for showing me how to kill a man with a pen and a lighter.
Thank you for letting me talk on the phone for hours to my girl friends even though you couldn’t understand how I could possibly talk that much.
Thank you for buying me my first prostitute, even though she had an Adam’s apple and her name was Steve.
Thank you for managing to stay proud of me even if my interests vary so greatly from your own.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
In other news, today is the birthday of someone very special. From her womb clawed my VVBFF, and if that fast-talking little blonde tornado didn’t kill her upon exit, you just know that she’s gotta be one tough mother.
Happy 50th birthday, Melissa!