This photo is one of my favorites because it started out posed and then inevitably, my Dad said something funny (quite possibly about how awful my jean jacket was) and then I busted a gut laughing. It’s what we do.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been told that I’m my father’s daughter. If you believe that astrology has any affect on your personality traits, then I suppose it was kind of unavoidable since I was born the day before his 31st birthday.
We share—for the most part—the same sense of humor, the same outlook on life, the same taste in cars and the same ass-kicking driving style (and speaking of driving: the same ability to drive my mom crazy), the same lack of patience with rude people, the same total inability to beat-around-the-bush (and in turn, the same appreciation for directness in others), and the same fascination with all things Chihuly. Oh yeah, we also have the same nose, though mine is MUCH smaller and cuter.
At 16, he was teaching me to drive stick shift and I almost killed us in the middle of an intersection when the car died as I was trying to make a left turn. He didn’t lose his cool with me, not for a second; even when I was panicking because I couldn’t get the clutch and the gas pedals synced up and the car died again, after it sputtered a few feet closer to the swiftly approaching oncoming traffic. He just yelled, “GO GO GO!”… and then I did. That pretty much sums up our relationship. He’s always been there, spurring me on to put my mind to something and then do it.
I know how bad his childhood was, and I know how lucky it is that he turned out to be the polar opposite of his own father. I’m grateful for that every day. Happy father’s day, Dad. Thanks for everything.
YES. And they are indeed very much alike. :)
Unrelated: I used to have great hair.
(Source: houseofjules2)
