Daddy's Girl

My dad and I are exactly the same, right down to the dorky history books we read BY CHOICE for fun...and then exchange them with each other because we know that nobody else in the world cares to read about Germaine de Staels part in the French Revolution (he'll be getting that book when I go home at the end of the month). Because we're so similar, if there needs to be some sort of "come to your senses" talk from my parents to me, he is not the one. The two of us can needle, banter, argue, and fight with the ferocity of...well, with the ferocity of something strong and scary...like lions or something.

We are the same. We think in the same way, but have fundamentally different views on life. Who's right? Neither of us. We both have religious and political beliefs based on our life experiences. As I've gotten a little older I've seen our intense political discussions become less heated and more mature - an actual exchange of information that allows each of us to understand the other a little better. And yes, I realize that sentence started with "As I've gotten a little older", but I would rather believe that our discussions have gotten more mature because HE'S gotten older.

With that said, I have a TON of nostalgia about growing up with my dad. My mom always got the bad rap because she was home with us all day. She woke us up (I still have flashbacks of her making her voice high-pitched - "Time to get up, time to get up, TIME TO GET UP"), kept us organized, disciplined us, got us to school, got us home from school, drove us to dance, soccer, gymnastics, art, etc., and made us do our homework. That's not to say we didn't have great experiences with her, like following the garbage man around the block on our big wheels, playing on the kitchen floor while she cooked, or all three of us girls putting on nail polish as she got ready to go out to dinner. But seriously, the parent that's home is the one that's more familiar. It was an event when dad came home from work. We'd hide, usually in the same places, and he'd put on a big production of finding us.

As an adult, there are so many triggers that remind me of my dad - mostly music. He and I are both FREAKS about music. I can't help but believe that my passion for music is learned from him. I have a really clear image of my dad and I sitting against the green love seat and listening to 45's (for you kids - that's vinyl). More importantly, I got to pick out many of the records we listened to - usually my selections were based off the picture on the label. Paul and Linda McCartney got much more attention than they deserved because of the pretty green apple on their records.

As time went on, my sister arrived and she got involved with our music listening (she wasn't as committed though - she seemed to flit around more then me when it came to the record player). We heard Three Dog Night, Lovin' Spoonful, Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass, The Limelighters (my least favorite), the Beetles, and The Kingston Trio. T and I made up dances in the living room that are legendary - to us anyway, they usually involved pretending Ann Boleyn's head was underneath our arms after it was chopped off...The Kingston Trio taught us early what a tyrant Henry VIII was.

I think about those times quite a bit, especially when I hear "our songs". Sitting in front of my computer on a day when I go into work late, I've been looking up music from that time. I can almost smell what the record box smells like (and still does back at their house) and hear my mom bustling around the kitchen.

I've actually become kind of a music snob, and pride myself on having an eclectic collection of obscure tunes...and I've also got more Three Dog Night and Lovin' Spoonful in my music library than I care to admit.

(And yes, that is an actual picture of me with my parents during the "Golden Age", i.e., before the other two kids came along. I really loved that outfit I'm wearing in the picture - seriously, I really did. The second photo is my dad and sister a couple years ago at her wedding.) ;)