THE MAN IN MY LIFE...

I'm referring to, of course, my dad. Omnipotent caretaker of all things related to my car, the grille, the laundry (and the occasional lack of finances), my dad is the only guy who's given me all the unconditional love I would ever need as a child, a teenager, and at the present time with no husband or son, as an adult too. Dad's 58 years old today and I've been fortunate to have known him for almost half of his lifetime.

My sister and I are just as much mommy's little angels as we are daddy's little girls. But as daddy's little girls, we've grown to realize our role as "daddy's little boys" too, in our own unique ways I suppose. I've always had this tiny insecurity that he wishes he had at least one son to hang out and do guy things with, instead of the two daughters he sometimes gets stuck having to drive to the salon to get haircuts. I worry sometimes, but only until I witness moments with dad that tell me he wouldn't have it any other way.

Moments, like his days off, which, in the past, he has spent on the bleachers at my sister's basketball games, yelling, "SHOOT IT TIN! SHOOT DA BALL!" Moments like playing volleyball with me in the garage at 10:00 at night before a big game. Or when he serenades, quite contently I might add, newly laundered whites that he has to fold and put away with his best Harry Connick, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Beach Boys or, yes, Miss Saigon improvisations. Moments like an evening of basketball and pizza with his two daughters. My dad has this thing about standing behind the couch instead of sitting down during a game (especially when the Lakers are playing) so he can walk away when it gets too much for him. Moments like the time we were assembling the computer desk and I asked him to hold the cabinet door so I could screw in the hinges and, distracted by DANCE WITH THE STARS, he let the door go prematurely and it fell on my face. He felt so guilty that he immediately ran downstairs to get me an icepack and upon his entrance into my room, realized he should've gotten me a band-aid because I was bleeding not bruising! I think I laughed more at the circumstances than I welled up from my bleeding eyelid.

My dad isn't perfect, and neither is our relationship with him. We have our differences, but we have even more similarities between us and that is the stronghold of our dynamic as father and daughters. My dad's love for God, his family and friends is unwarranted by misfortune or misgiving. That's what I've learned from him the most.

They say women are often attracted to men who possess the qualities they admire in their dads. If this theory is true, then my future husband has a lot to live up to.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!!!