Tales From The Toybox

Lesson 5088:

Never ask your teen to hold your camera while you get out of the car.

So at 6 1/2 months old mom and dad decided it was time for me to have my first taste of solid foods. Being that I have never missed a meal, they just knew how exciting that first bite of food would be for me. They planned ahead and increased our grocery budget in anticipation of my hefty appetite.  The day finally comes and we sit at the table with a jar of pears at mom’s left and peas on her right. First they try the pears…hmmm…I make a face…squint my eyes a little…purse my lips…and swallow!!! Not bad. Again with the pears…the face…the eyes…the lips…swallow again!!! I love it! More! More! Let’s try the peas! Here comes the face…the eyes…and I add a crinkled up nose!!!! But what’s this? Out come the peas??? Hmmm. I’m not too sure about that. Mom tries again! Face…eyes…nose…bottom lip…screaming!!! This can’t be right! There must be something wrong with this jar. Okay, I’m spittin this stuff out! Let’s try the pears again. Face…eyes…skips the nose…swallow. OK, just for kicks let’s try some carrots. Maybe I just don’t like veggies. Face…a little smacking…stick my tongue out…swallow! Wow. Tasty stuff! Maybe I just didn’t get a good taste of the peas. One last try. Face….eyes….nose…bottom lip…fist in mouth…flings peas all over mom. Would you believe she tries it again? Now I’m getting mad. She waits until I work up a good wail before she crams the spoon in my mouth. Even my gagging doesn’t deter her. She mumbles something about not wasting the .37 cents the jar cost and how it’s good for me. Then she tries to trick me by covering a spoonful of that nasty stuff with pears. Finally, after days of sitting in that chair, she gives up. I’m worn out. This eating stuff is hard work. Anyone got an aspirin??

I remember growing up thinking my father was the smartest person on the planet. There was nothing he didn’t know how to do, no problem he couldn’t solve. He could harvest wheat, rope a steer, stop a bull with his bare hands, shoot a hoop at more than half-court, build a radio, design airplanes, program computers, solve linear differential math equations, and bandage a knee, just to name a few. He did nothing without hours or months (depending on its level of importance) of forethought and planning. He was a saver, a planner, thinker and a doer. My dad could be goofy too. He would honk, spout off one-liners as if he’d rehearsed them, write poems about singing pigs, and sing songs about turbins. And my dad was not one of those sit-on-the-couch-all-day dads either. When I was learning to ride a bike my dad was right behind me running…as fast as he could…with his arms outstretched in case I fell. When I was in elementary school my dad was sitting there across the kitchen table explaining my homework to me in such detail that it lost all meaning to me. When I was in middle school and experimenting with make-up my dad would smile and tell me I looked beautiful even though in reality I looked like a cross between a clown and a hooker. When I was in high school my dad would leave work every Friday to watch me dance in the pep rallies and sacrifice endless evenings taking me to and from drill team practice and watching my performances. When I left for college my father pulled some strings to get me into a college I had not actually earned my way into…he supported me financially and emotionally…as I dropped out of three colleges. When I got married…to the wrong guy…my father walked me down the aisle. When I gave birth to my first child, my father was the first to hold her. And today, as I sit typing on my fathers 65^th birthday, I know that my daddy is still there…still supporting me… rejoicing with me when I soar and catching me when I fall..and at the age of 65 he is, without a doubt, still the smartest person on the planet!!!

Happy Birthday DAD!! I love you!