He used to put me to bed on Monday nights, I believe at 8, but it might have been 7. My bedroom was on the first floor, slightly off of the living room, and I could hear him watching tv as I fell asleep. An hour later, after Alien Nation had finished (which I was not allowed to watch), he'd come and get me out of bed. I'd sit on the couch with him, in my pjs, usually eating a small snack he'd made (mmm, toast with butter and honey), and together we'd watch Star Trek: The Next Generation.
He was a smoker for many years of my childhood -- until I was about 12, I think. At the time, I had no idea, because he never smoked in front of me, nor did he leave his cigarettes laying around the house.
He once convinced me that before I was born, my mom had a pet chimpanzee. She had to give him up when I was a baby, because the chimp and I did not get along.
Throughout my childhood, he managed the local movie theaters. Whenever I was invited to a slumber party, I would show up bearing a bag of popcorn bigger than I was. I was a pretty popular slumber party guest.
When he enrolled me in elementary school, and filled out the "In Case of Emergency, Contact ..." form, he wrote in, "Anyone but Charles Manson." The school did not think it was nearly as funny as he did.
Though I know he would have preferred I study business, he supported me when I decided to go to Vassar and major in Theatre.
He teases me a lot, but I know he's incredibly proud of me.
At our old house, whenever there was a big thunderstorm, huge puddles would form on the uneven sidewalks outside our house. Dad and I would run outside and do a rain dance through the puddles, under the storm clouds, until we were soaked through and laughing.
When I read my first Sherlock Holmes story, "The Speckled Band," I was too scared to finish it. Dad took the book, finished the story for me, and told me what happened.
On the flip side of his bravery: He took my mom on a date to see Alien. As soon as the retainer-looking alien baby attached itself to John Hurt's face, my dad stood up, yelled, "I don't know why I'm DOING this to myself!" He turned to my mom and said, "I'll pick you up later!" and ran out. Much later, he watched the end of the movie over and over to be sure the alien actually died.
He used to let me stay up late on Thursday evenings to watch Mystery! on PBS.
He introduced me to one of my favorite cartoons for grownups, Home Movies.
He loves to do crossword puzzles, and he'd stay up late, sitting in the kitchen, finishing one up before he went to bed. In the morning when I got up for school, there would sometimes be a puzzle left out, with a sticky note on it saying, "Big Al, 7 down." He'd leave the clues that he knew I'd know blank, so I could fill in the last squares of the puzzle for him.
Nowadays, he sometimes mails me mostly completed crossword puzzles, with sticky notes indicating the clues I should finish.
Thanks, Dad, for being a great dad. And thanks to John, my stepdad, for being rad in other wonderful ways.
How rad is your dad?
