for you Dad

I remember you taking down Atlas Shrugged from your bookshelf and telling me that it was "the best book I've read," and telling me that I would enjoy it just as much. Four reads later and I still love it. I love it even more when I tell you that I would like to be Dagny Taggert, and you tell me I already am.

I remember the condo and you buying your Harley and taking me out for a ride, years and years and eons after the first time I rode one and me clinging to you, terrified of the speed and the wind rushing past. And then I remember I could never get enough of riding on the back with you, wanting so badly to learn how to drive one (although...I also remember trying to support that huge bike in your garage all on my own and realizing a Harley might be a little too heavy for me).

I still remember the first time you introduced me to sushi and I wondering how on earth that little amount of food could possibly sustain anyone and how chewy octopus was (and I haven't eaten octopus since). And of course the last time I saw you was in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles over sushi after my graduation.

I only vaguely remember the old Virginia house, but my only clear memories are the late nights when I couldn't sleep and I could always find you downstairs. I can't recall my bedroom, or the living room or the kitchen of that house, but the downstairs living area I can still picture.

I like that I inheritied your quest to learn how things work, and to make it on my own and to work hard for what I want. I have to admit that I'm a little dismayed I inherited broad shoulders but without your height. Although...you've heard me complain about this nearly every time I go shopping.

When I was little, the only bedtime stories I wanted were your personal stories of a certain troublemaker. I can only imagine your confusion at being dragged through the mall, having been "blessed" with only daughters, and trying to figure out what on earth MAC cosmetics were, or listening to me try to explain why I had to have a Kate Spade wallet for my birthday. I'm sure you must have zoned out if we ever tried to discuss the merits over Armani over Versace, just as I have to admit I zoned out through all the Home Depot and Sears trips.

Dad...you survived having "girly" girls and all that entailed. You came to all my recitals: the piano, dance, band concerts..., and to many of my soccer games, even if I could never discuss football with you or tell you the purpose of a wide reciever.

I'm sure you're still bewildered where this little vegetarian girl came from.

I will think of you whenever I come across a Brugger's Bagels or hear Friends in Low Places. I think of you whenever I pick up Atlas Shrugged, the book that did change my life (Father knows best, right?). I will always think of you when I catch a whiff of Old Spice or see any little blonde haired girl dancing on her Father's toes. I still eat my pancakes in silver dollars and sometimes "city sidewalks" are the only lyrics I remember too. Sushi Awaji just isn't the same without you.

Happy Father's Day! I may not be that little blonde haired girl anymore, but I have a feeling I will always be a Daddy's girl.