dad.

today's my dad's birthday.

i could write a bunch about how rad he his, how much he loves me and would like, walk on hot coals and shards of glass to help me. i could wax nostalgic about painting with him in the studio, eating pancakes and watching the political round table shows on sunday mornings. rainy days we'd spend in old bookstores curled up in different corners reading all day. my dad taught me how to ride a bike (into a tree), how to load film, that vanilla extract makes EVERYTHING taste better. he put bacon in pancakes, apples in smoothies, and jelly in omlettes. when i weighed 65 lbs, other than apples and diet soda the only thing i would eat was his food: oatmeal in the mornings or spaghetti and this gravy type sauce he'd whip up whenever i wanted. he makes the best steamed veggies in the whole world. when my dog died he buried her and built a mosaic over her grave. being 16 and running around like a hellion in nyc my dad kept in daily contact with me, eventually came up to visit, brought food to my friends, shook their hands and hugged them for looking out for me, shot pictures of everyone when we went out that night. he taught me how to plant trees and build fences. my art eerily resembles his. i could talk about how traumatised he is now due to my obsession with the little mermaid- he's seen it at least 50 times.

yeah, my dad loves me.

he's always pushed me to be more than i thought i could be, encouraged me to do whatever it was that made me happy, to work hard, work harder. he's had to bear with me much, much more than any parent should. worrying about what random shit i was going to dream up to do with my life (that would directly contradict whatever i'd said the day before) has probably given him 20 ulcers and shaved 10 years off his life. part of me never wants to have kids because, karmically, they'd have to be serial killers (or total douchebags) to make up for the effort involved in making sure i lived to see 25.

even if he forgot it was my birthday when i was 18. (sorry dad, you know im neverrrrr letting you forget that)

so, dad, you rock. you're not perfect, or god (at some point you have to stop answering "what i have to do with it?" when i say "goddammit") but but i think you're the best dad i could've hoped for. and i love you.

happy fucking birthday.