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Recently we celebrated Dad’s everywhere.

Miles and miles of lands and sea separated me from my Dad, so I wasn’t able to hug him or say any of this to him in person.  So, to do something special, I’d like to dedicate this post to sharing what my Dad means to me:

Dad, first I need to thank you for several physical characteristics… I have the Davies hair, eyes, poor eyesight, jaw, bow leggedness, upper body strength, pidgin toe-ness, gait, feet, speed, and canker sores.

But more than that, Dad, I’ve inherited a few other characteristics that could have come from none other than you.  Your use of made-up vocabulary, for example, with words like vamoosicate and adding o’s to the end of words thinking that was Spanish.  I’ve also adopted a few of your favorite phrases too, including “Inch by inch, it’s a cinch; yard by yard, it’s really hard” and “Let’s make like Pablo and Cruise”.  I also now find myself more knowledgeable in areas that I certainly do not find interesting, like plumbing, Nascar, politics, car specs, and red-neck solutions to common problems.  I’ve also inherited our family name, Davies, and along with the Davies name comes the Dutch and Welsh heritage that I’ve become so proud of.

But, really, Dad I want to thank you for these unforgettable memories:

  • teaching me to drive like I “was always on ice” or that “there was an egg on my dashboard”,
  • chilling in Japan with me in Epcot because we both hate shopping,
  • loving fireworks and rollercoasters and asparagus and Avatar just as much as I do,
  • singing us a prayer before bed at night, e
  • njoying the same favorite drink at Starbucks (caramel macchiato),
  • buying my first car which turned out to be a manual,
  • being sat on by a horse in Costa Rica and the whole hospital experience afterwards,
  • always having a toothpick in your mouth,
  • talking with me for hours on random topics and pretending that we know what we’re talking about,
  • keeping me informed with who’s who when we eat lunch at the Manure Pit (I mean, Auction House) in Wayland,
  • cleverly naming my pet rat Mr. Ratola (who you gifted to me if I remember correctly),
  • always sniffing and guessing what your gift was before you opened it,
  • taking me to Iowa in celebration of my 10th birthday (and playing hangman the whole way),
  • always pronouncing names wrong like Dzia Dzia and Busia and Josiah and Felipe,
  • teaching us how to (not) catch fish using hotdogs as bait,
  • taking us deep-sea fishing and baiting our hooks because we were too chicken and then accidentally shoving squid up your nose and puking (sorry, but that was funny),
  • driving me to all my doctor’s appointments after my surgery and not making fun of me for how dorky I looked,
  • coming to Father/Daughter night at GEMS and teaching me how to build a birdhouse,
  • making me eat that olive that one time (I still regret that, you know),
  • teaching me how to play Euchre and Knock Out Whist, trick-or-treating with Rhys and I that one time because no one else could go (and dressing up like a gravestone with me),
  • filling up my gas tank when I asked nicely,
  • always going to the vet with me with whatever sick animal we had,
  • being fierce competition in every go-kart race and putt-putt golf game at Craig’s Cruisers,
  • teaching me the importance of harmony and singing with us in the Church choir,
  • being so proud of your mad cooking and grilling skills (except for your peanut butter gravy… that was gross),
  • being afraid to watch scary movies,
  • doing your ridiculous happy dance whenever you felt like it,
  • driving all those hours on all those family vacation and not once killing us,
  • being proud (and surprised) of us when Sarah and I set a urinal that you couldn’t,
  • for praying long prayers after Sunday’s lunch (though thankfully not as long as Grandpa’s),
  • going with me to rescue my cat when she got caught in Sarah’s car,
  • loving gnomes and hiding little ones in the garden,
  • buying me a gun for my birthday because I complained about being treated differently than Evan,
  • purposely pronouncing Spanish as poorly as possible just to get a laugh out of everyone,
  • supporting me in whatever dream I suddenly came up with, and so so much more.

Most of all, thank you for letting me wrap you around my little pinky finger.

Love always,

Your little girl

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