I meant to post this yesterday - meaning Sunday - meaning Father's Day. To me, it's still Monday night, even though Tuesday has crept up on my ass like an upper echelon cat burglar as I've barreled away catching up with work.
Anyway, this is one of my favorite stories from my youth about my father:
My Dad used to tease me a lot when I was a kid. He had good reason: I was cranky; I ate far too slowly; I often demanded last minute ironing and several outfit changes just before leaving for kindergarten. On a particularly tease-jab-joke filled kindergarten morning, my dad was kneeling in front of me, tying my shoe or zipping up my jacket. I was complaining about how cold it was outside.
"I'm cold." I said.
"Hi, Cold. I'm Terry." my Dad replied.
For some reason, he loved that joke.
For some reason, I hated that joke.
"You know, Dad. You make me so mad sometimes, I want to punch you in the face."
Unimpressed by my threat, Dad laughed and said, "Oh, yeah. Take your best shot."
Still laughing, he closed his eyes.
I wound up and socked him - hard - right in the nose.
He flew back and whelped - clearly, he wasn't prepared for my cashing that particular check.
"Hey, why'd you hit me?"
"Because you said I could."