March Dad-ness

My dear ol Dad's birthday is today. For about four years I was the worst daughter about birthdays for him considering our basketall tourney runs were always smack in the middle of March. Which I'm sure there was never a better birthday present than getting to yell at the occassional referee in the middle of March Madness, but still I am remiss on celebrating my pop.

Larry Bruce is the most handsome 54 year-old I know. Not just because he's my dad, but because it's true. My mom says he reminds her of Harrison Ford. He's pretty much the best dad ever. He recently trapped a GIANT groundhog out of my backyard. So big and hissing and nasty that he had to pick up the cage with a broom handle and walk it out to the truck. He set it free in the grassy woodlands of Bonne Terre. With a floppy thud, it rolled out of the cage and scampered to freedom.

My dad taught me so much, when I let him. How to attempt left-handed hook shots more often than really necessary. How to bait my hook. How to play golf, how to drive, how to mow the yard... that last one didn't go so well. He would always let out an impressed chortle when I would really whack a drive on the golf course. How to dance. He would say he taught me how to dance because I just looked at him and did the exact opposite. He is a master griller, in the true Dad fashion. He knows how to "rig" anything. He once fashioned a uni-suspender out of the strap of his man-purse when his belt broke in Switzerland. And if you ask my friends, he is the best insurance man they have ever had. He gets letters in local papers for the nice stuff he does for his customers that he really doesn't have to do and really doesn't talk about it much. He is a servant. He also loves my mom really well. They are stupidly happy.

He taught me to be critical to a fault, and now I get paid to do just that. He taught me to help people who need help and he broke many destructive cycles by himself, with no help. He is Bootstrap Bill.

He climbed into my bed once when I had lost a big basketball game as a freshmen in high school and for a big, man's man dad, he said all the right things to his hormonal teenage daughter lying prone on the bed, sobbing in the dark, and she never forgot it. I don't say it well or often, but thanks, Daddy. I know who I am, because you told me, sometimes with words, mostly without...everyday.

Love You. Happy Birthday!