I love my dad.
He might be the kindest and most compassionate person I know. He’d give you the shirt off his back, even if that meant he’d be shirtless.
Other people love him, too. Of course, they love him for those reasons. But they also love that he screams at the TV when the Giants fumble, or when the ump blows a strike call. They think it’s hilarious when he calls someone a jerk because they have an ugly haircut. And that he insists on telling the same story about “nickel drafts” at Shady Brady’s bar, over and over and over again.
The very things that drive me up the wall. A wall of insanity. Again, Dad? Again, really?
I proceed to get pissed and banter with him, back n’ forth. And at the end of the day, I’m frustrated and exhausted. But I always come back for more bickering. Why do I do that? Why do WE do that?Read More