Tuesday, March 22, 2016
The Shoes Not To Fill
It's Tuesday morning where you are, but it's still Saturday morning -- when I write all four of my weekly blogs -- where I am.
And today, I'm quite adamant about playing with the time/space continuum, as it is March 19. My oldest daughter's birthday.
It's hard to believe that she is no longer a teenager and has all but notched two years under her belt at the University of Washington (Go Huskies, so at least I feel I'm getting my money's worth.)
It seems like just yesterday, my wife and I were staring at the curious puddle of amniotic fluid on the kitchen floor and rushing off to St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica.
I'll never forget the searing pain of our first childbirth.
Labor dragged on for close to 38 hours. And I was forced to sleep in a cheap Ikea chair with poor padding and wooden armrests. While my wife, hooked up to a soothing epidural, enjoyed round-the-clock care and a team of obstetric nurses who catered to her every whim.
"Strawberries? No problem. Would you like a bowl or a cup?"
I still get shivers when I think of the scarring discomfort I endured on that March 19th evening so many years ago.
As you might imagine, I had thousands of photos to choose from to lead off today's post. I selected the one above for obvious reasons. It captures my daughter's radiant smile. And you can almost hear her laughing. Not unlike all proud fathers, I am a sucker for her contagious laughter and sometimes wonder if she is using it as a tool to manipulate me.
You need a new iPhone?
You need a new computer?
You need some money for a weekend trip to Vancouver?
Fortunately, as some of you know firsthand, I am a man of modest needs. I do my own manscaping. Though of considerable girth, I eat like a bird. And as my 10 year old dungarees will attest, I am no slave to fashion. In fact, the beat-up Havana Joe's Leather Chukka boots you see on my daughter's feet could be the most expensive item in my wardrobe.
And on that point, as long as my daughter does NOT follow in her father's footsteps and end up in advertising, she can have anything she damn well pleases.
I know you won't be reading this Rachel, but Happy Birthday.