I lucked out when it comes to dads (and moms, and siblings, and extended family). (Also, husbands, kids, pets, and friends.)
When I’m nervous about fixing a toilet or changing out a light fixture or using a chain saw, my dad is the guy who jumps into his car, drives to our house, and helps us get the job done. Best of all, he never laughs at me or makes me feel silly when I mess something up or I’m not able to fix something correctly.
Several years back, my dad drove an hour in the rain to deliver a pot of chili to my office. He left it in the front seat of my car (along with a bag of oyster crackers) and it was still warm when I drove it back to my apartment. (What he didn’t know was that his timing was perfect. I was out of cash, had no food at the apartment, and was planning on charging a taco for dinner.)
It is because of my dad that I plant tomatoes, I eat gooey butter cake, and I never use The F Word on my website (unless it’s necessary).
When Meredith and Harp visit my parents’ house, my dad often comes out of the back room with a 3 Musketeers candy bar. It is their ritual to cut the bar into thirds and split it. This is a tradition my kids will remember forever.