By: Blackmar

I always have mixed emotions on Father’s Day. For like the first 11 years of my life, I thought my dad was the coolest. When he would get home from work, I would rush downstairs to give him a hug and throw a frisbee to our dog with him even if it meant missing some of the Power Rangers or whatever show I had probably been watching on TV. But then, the summer before I went into the 7th grade, my dad cheated on my mom and left her for the other woman. He packed up all of his stuff while she was at work one day and left it to my older brother to tell her what was going on when she got home. He even asked me to help him take his stuff out to the car and I was too young and in shock to say, “No dad wtf.” And then he spent most of my teen years generally being a shitty person until he died from liver cancer ten years ago when I was 20. If he had been around more, we inevitably would have gotten into lots of arguments about politics and his stupid opinions about LGBT people. But I still miss him sometimes. He told the worst/best dad jokes, he loved classic rock (which I guess was just called rock in his day), he let me watch a bunch of movies my friends’ parents wouldn’t let them watch, and he gave really great hugs.

This is him a couple of years before I was born, wearing some amazing cutoffs, and doing something with a stick, I guess.