A real hero

I wrote about a real sports hero...here.

If only I had better words for this...Dad.

Many times,I find myself relating to someone else's experiences "as the daughter of a ________." Someone's facing a drug screening? "My dad was a probation officer, so I've heard so many stories about those." Someone's talking about incarceration? "My dad was a warden, so I can discuss these theories about corrections." Someone's telling about when they needed an ambulance at 4 in the morning? "Oh, my dad's a paramedic; that pager going off in the night was a big part of our household routine."

He was and is more things, too: a teacher, a firefighter, a coach in almost every sport I played. Most of all, he's a hell of a daddy. I have four brothers, so I'm kind of the princess, I guess. Dad likes to say I've got him wrapped around my little finger, that he'd do anything for me if I just bat my eyes at him. But I hope he knows the reverse is true - I'd give anything, do anything, go anywhere for him.

And how could I not? I can't think of any man between Jesus' time and today that I admire more than my father. Daddy is selfless - those 4 a.m. ambulance calls weren't fun for him, but he wanted to help people, and he never ever complained about being tired when it was time to go to work a couple hours later. He never complains about anything, except maybe the Royals, and he has more things he could complain about than many people.

Like I said before, my Daddy is a million things. He has always found time to cheerfully and skillfully be everything for everyone, whether it was coaching my Little League teams, volunteer firefighting, teaching EMS classes at the local college, serving on our parish council, working full-time, sharing in the cooking and cleaning with Mom...or all of the above.

When I screw up, he never yells, and if he ever completely loses patience with my idiocy he never shows it. I never have to question whether he loves me, my brothers, and my mom, and I thank God every day for that. If more daddies everywhere could be at all like my daddy, my hero, the world would be a totally different place.

As usual, the Fathers' Day contributions at PostSecret have broken my heart, but made me weep a little (OK, a lot) with appreciation for the dad I have. So...hi Daddy, sorry I can't be at home to bake you a Royals cake this year, but I hope this will do. Happy Father's Day.

Love,
Minda

Remember...

I had some thoughts about Kansas City's struggles over the last few days, some forecasts for the 2008 Omaha Royals, the Patriots allegedly cheating by spying on Jets' sideline. But today, no matter what happens with the Royals/Twins game, and no matter what other thoughts I've had to write, this space is to serve one very important purpose:

Remember.

It's 9/11. Please remember all the ones who are no longer with us, whether they were office workers just getting through a regular Tuesday in the WTC, firefighters responding to the horrific scene, those on United flight 93, those in the Pentagon, or U.S. soldiers who have perished in the war against terrorist bastards since then.

Too often, people refer to 9/11 as a yardstick by which to measure how long the wait time at major airports are. This day, the worst tragedy in U.S. history, has been trivialized to the point where people roll their eyes when they talk about what a pain in the ass their lives have become since then. More security at airports? What a hardship! Blame 9/11. More rules at the football stadium? How annoying; blame 9/11. This needs to stop; let's all try and remember what that day felt like, and the fact that for once, people could put their petty differences aside and help each other, love each other.

Remember.


the victims (source)