It’s Father’s Day. If you’re on Facebook, you’ve probably noticed the numerous Father’s Day posts and old pictures of dads. I put one up. It’s the one you’ll see at the end of this post. I’m not the daughter that likes to pretend that my daddy is perfect; he’s not. I am however, very grateful to have the old gray-haired man as my papa, mainly because, well, without him I wouldn’t be here. And he also brings me some good laughs.
Yesterday, my mom and I took my Pops out to get a pedicure. If you’ve ever helped trim sheep hooves, you may be able to appreciate what this pedicure did for my father. He needed one. Badly.
When we left the Garden Nails salon, my dad couldn’t stop looking down at his feet. “They don’t even look the same,” he mused. Throughout the evening, he talked about his “new feet” at least five times. He even talked about the cheese-grater they took to the bottom of his feet at breakfast this morning (classy, I know). He’s incredibly proud of his new feet.
In case you’re not really getting my dad’s excitement, image taking a three-year old to the shoe store and buying her a pair of sparkly shoes she really wanted and how she would stare at them and talk about them to everyone she saw over the next two days. That’s what my dad has been like about his feet. I appreciate his enthusiasm.
My old man is a hoot. He’s a bit quirky (you see why I’m so cool now, yes?) and he’s a bit stubborn (part of our German heritage), but I really enjoy this old duffer.
Happy Father’s Day, Pops! Keep livin’ the dream!