Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Remember, Remember The Fifth Of November

Can I just start out this post with a few kudos to our new President elect? Just in case Barack stumbles across my blog in his spare time I'd like to let him know he's done fine. This election has been filled with almost every emotion available to humans; on both sides (even though Cindy McCain's face is not capable of anything but that smile-like grimace). I know my political experience is nothing, seeing as I've only known Bushes and Clintons in the White House, but this election was pretty exciting. Apart from re-defining the lines of race and gender, the election had some pretty impressive merchandise.
My favorite is this Obama-ka.

Not only is this a great day for America, but it is a great day for the world. Because it is the day David B Thomas was born.

My dad.

Whether it's helping me do my Beaver County report in roughly the time it took to make my cinnamon toast before the bus came, because I had neglected to tell him anything about the report until an hour before it was due. And it still turned out awesome. Fully equipped with a pin-the-tail-on-the-beaver game and partly factual information from the one and only brochure Beaver County has.

Or driving me all the way back down the canyon to get a coat from grandma's house when my seventh grade vanity prohibited me from wearing his oversized olive green sweater and I had forgotten my own coat. Even though he was so mad at me he wouldn't speak the whole way down, we still made up over the obligatory, raspberry-filled powdered donuts from the gas station.

Or when he sacrificed the lawn, and the wood floors, and the carpets, and the garage door, and almost everything else below knee level in the house all just to give me what I wanted even more than a little sister: a puppy. When I made myself a collar and a tail and pretended to be a dog myself, he didn't see it as creepy like everyone else, but he saw it as an endearing cry for the dog I so sorely needed.

I know it's hard for my dad to be the only sane one in the midst of three very different girls, and a lot of times what we mean gets lost in what we say, but the best way to say I love you, is by not saying anything at all.
When I ran the jeep into a car in our driveway on New Year's Eve and instead of yelling at me you just laughed and helped me out of the driveway so I could go to my party.
That told me you love me.
When I hit my middle school crisis, and was positive no one understood what it meant to be a 13 year old at Farrer Middle School, you listened to all my woes, and even made a packet of all my talents, complete with pictures and diagrams, when I didn't think I was good at anything (which I still have today).
That told me you love me.
Especially when I'm five thousand miles away and I'm too busy having the time of my life, and get stressed about all the little things I was supposed to do before I left (like planning a return ticket for the right day) and you swoop in on your white horse and take care of everything.
That told me you love me.

Here's to another amazing year with an amazing dad.


Emma said...

We seriously have the best dad. He never yells even when we wreck his cars...Hannah's next for that experience to add to her list. oh, and you make me laugh!

ann cannon said...

Hey, I loved reading that. So great. Happy Birthday, Dave. Happy Election Day, Obama.