Happy Father's Day, Dad

My dad is my biggest blog fan. He'll call me to tell me I haven't updated in a while and what gives? So to honor him this year, I thought I would regail my audience, and him especially, with my favorite memories of growing up with him (in no particular order):

1) Our bike rides. Every so often we would hop on our bikes and just tour the neighborhood. I really enjoyed these rides because it gave us time to just talk about everything and nothing. We never had a planned route or decided end game on these rides. It was for pure enjoyment alone. Good times, good times.

2) Dad/Daughter dances. My high school held these dances every year and we went to two of them - my junior and senior years. Dad would 'suit up' and I would dress to the nines. It wasn't often I got to dress up AND go out for a night on the town with my dad so these were always extra special events.

3) My eighth grade graduation. There we were, sitting in a hot gymnasium in Canton Middle School, my dad with a borrowed video camera that used those oh-so-small and technologically advanced VHS tapes that required a full-sized adapter for playback. The ceremony seemed endless and I just wanted to start my summer vacation already. Finally, it was all wrapped up and we went home only to watch it all over again. We throw the tape into the VCR and what do we see? After the processional and a couple of speeches we see about 5-7 minutes of my dad's lap because he forgot to put it on pause. Classic.

4) Bowling night. To this day my dad is on a bowling league. It's our heritage (and really the only thing to do for fun in the midwest). When I was a mere 3 or 4, Dad would take me to the alley with him on league night. Debbie, my preschool teacher, moonlighted there and was the jolliest woman I knew. These were great times, because while my dad was bowling and being an adult, he would fork over money whenever I asked for it so I could go have fun. Mind you, a dollar went a long way in those days so I was a cheap date. To this day, I get all nostalgic when I walk into a bowling alley because this is THE memory that makes me think of my dad. The sounds of bowling balls being rolled down lanes, hitting pins with that distinctive crash and yes, even the standard alley smell of stale cigarette smoke and rental shoe spray all take me back to my happy place.

So there you have it, Dad. I hope you've enjoyed walking down memory lane with me. I love you.