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Just Like My Dad (NaBloPoMo, Day 2)

NaBloPoMo February 2012 New Day, new NaBloPoMo. Actually it’s the end of Feb. 2 and the new day begins in about ten minutes, but today’s been kinda crazy-insane. I’m gonna tough this one out this whole month! Here’s today’s assignment:

Tell us about your father.

This is the best way I can talk about my Dad: with an email he sent me last week. Names have been changed; my dad does not call me by my Pseudonym and my dad does not refer to his spouse using non-proper nouns unless they are “Darlin'” or “Sweetie.”

Dear Bellesouth

Just in case you have not heard my messages, I will apologize for the four times tried to reach you.
I messed up on the day of the Lewis Black and Democrat Dude deals. Yesterday afternoon I got  ready, drove to our meeting place, and waited.  According to AT&T, I parked the car at 5:58 PM.
With immense pride, I said to myself, “I actually got here before Bellesouth, Ha, Ha!”
Oh yes, I arrived 24 hours and two minutes before Bellesouth. “Ha, Ha, Ha !”
I waited. No Bellesouth. I began to worry. I worried about the color of my ride.
My first call was to let you know I was driving a black Chrysler 300. It is the rental car our insurance provided while
my wife’s car is in the shop. I was worried  you would not be able to find me in the dark.
I worried more. I reasoned, “It is not like Bellesouth to be late. She may have had a wreck or been mugged. Maybe
she needs me to rescue her from evil enemies.”
I made the second call. I did not leave a message. I could not think of what to say, other than something like
“Are you dead?”
I waited  more.. Still no Bellesouth.
My third call was a complete accident. I was trying to call my wife. However, by now I was no longer in control or my fingers. Mike checking “Finger Power! they speed dialed  your number.
Only then did I begin to question the date. Listen to the message left on the fourth call if you want the rest of the story.
Sorry about that. See you at six o’clock tonight.
Love,
Stupid
FYI: My dad is NOT named Stupid. His name is Dad. He reminds me every time he calls me – saying, “This is Day-ud,” as if he needs to remind me whose voice it is. Sometimes he’ll say, “Hey, Sweetie, this is Daddy,” when he leaves voice mails for me.
He likes to leave me lots of voice mail messages. One time when cleaning out my voice mail, it went like this:
“Hey, Sweetie-“(press)
“Hey, Sweetie, this is Day-ud-“(press)
“Hey, Swee-“(press)
“Hey, Sw-“(press)
“Hey, Sweetie, it’s yer daddy”-(press)
He occasionally misspells words, but he has a Masters Degree from Southern Methodist University. At one point he thought about sending his degree back to SMU when he found out they were going to house a certain Texan Republican’s Presidential Library.
The “Democrat Dude” we went to see last week was Ken Aden, a man who is running for Congress in our district, and who just found out this morning that he’s having a little girl. I would talk more about Ken, but he has his own web site.
My dad provided as a wise sage at that event, where he shared his experience in more than 60 years, discussed his concerns for transportation and infrastructure improvements; economic disparity and health care.
30 years ago my dad preached a sermon that the way things were headed, we were creating a system that would leave people either very, very rich or very, very poor, with very little of the middle class left.
Last week he shared his stories, added insight and then we went over to laugh at Lewis Black busting veins all over the place.
My dad: Intelligent, funny, sooth-saying, Lewis-Black-loving… and very, very punctual.

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