Grateful Sunday: Father’s Day edition

When pondering my “grateful list” today, there was one thing (or, I should say, person) who popped to the top of the list.  Who, might you ask? Why, my DAD of course! It’s Father’s Day, silly! (well, barely, but it still counts).

In performing the annual reflective exercise of why I am grateful for my dad, my newfound context of story-telling came almost immediately to mind.  While it was my mother who instilled in me a profound respect for the written word, my father was the one who gave me some of my most vivid memories of the oral tradition.  As children, my siblings and I would beg our dad to re-tell some of our favorite stories from his childhood.  My dad’s stories  always included plenty of gruesome-yet-hilarious mishaps such as the time his snowball downed a giant icicle only to have it smash him in the face – he got six stitches, if i remember correctly.

To us kids, my father’s childhood was a land of hilarity and adventure, and we longed to have lives as interesting as his so that we too could regale our children with stories someday.  We never thought we could possibly have such fascinating stories to tell. I’m happy to say, however, that as a grown adult, I am quite busy living a life full of fodder for interesting stories.

So Dad, thanks for giving me a foundation to build my stories off of.  Thanks for encouraging me to dream and imagine, for always believing in me, and for teaching me how to laugh at myself when all else fails.  I love you Dad.

Happy Father’s Day!

Yes, that would be my dad gleefully learning how to butcher a pig...


One thought on “Grateful Sunday: Father’s Day edition

  1. Ha-Ha! Thanks for the laughter Dena. I’m glad to know that the oral tradition will live on in the family through successive generations. I believe it was my grandmother who first stirred the imagination of my siblings and myself with stories of mishaps in her life, usually including pain and blood (the more the better). We hungered for details and she provided them in verbal Technicolor. Somehow, she survived those adventures, as have I my own (I’m knocking on wood as I write this).

    I love you Dena, and feel much gratitude for my two daughters and one son who all keep me on my toes.


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