6.29.11

Tonight's post is about an adventure that took place a long time ago.


I had an early morning doctor's appointment today (because google told me I was dying. I'm not. And I seriously need to stop googling.), and Will and I didn't have any plans, so we decided to find my dad. 


After trying a few places, we finally located him at home (should have checked there first!). 


He made a fresh pot of coffee, just for me, and he and I watched the Today show while Olivia played with Will. We critiqued Ann Curry's new role, talked about how old (but still attractive on my end) Matt Lauer looks, and caught up on the little things in our own everyday lives.


It was just like old times. 


"Old times" for me is when I lived with him right after college. My mom had already moved to New York, and I was still deciding what to do. He needed a nanny and I needed a place to sleep. It was a deal. 


Those two years hold some of my favorite memories with him. After all, I hadn't truly lived with my dad on a daily basis since I was nine. It was somewhat magical, rebuilding our father-daughter bond.


Which is ironic, because right around 9:30 this morning, Al Roker did a segment on strengthening father-daughter relationships. 


My dad doesn't know this (although he will after he reads this), but one of my most favorite father-daughter memories with him is from when I was thirteen or fourteen. 


I was a terrible soccer player--I wasn't strong, big, or fast--but I thought through my plays, which made me smart, and probably kept me on teams longer than I should have been. 


We were playing in a tournament in West Virginia--the Sternwheel Regatta--and instead of it being a family affair, it was just me and my dad.


The drive through the mountains in his Volvo wagon was rainy and dark. For the majority of the four-hour car ride, we listened to Phil Collins' ...Hits. album. I loved the trumpets in "Something Happened on the Way to Heaven," and we rewound the cassette tape over and over again. 


The team chose to stay in a crappy Motel 8. It had disgusting red carpet, which I remember falling asleep on at some unheard of early hour (7:30 perhaps?), exhausted from the two games we'd played that day. I remember my dad waking me up to tuck me into bed.


I also remember waking up the next morning and being promised twenty bucks if I scored a goal that day. The competition at the good ol' Sternwheel Regatta wasn't all that fierce. It was doable. 


And when I scored that goal...


...I didn't care about the twenty bucks. I made my dad proud.


Phil Collins carried us back to Cincinnati, and I'm pretty sure I went on to be the typical disinterested teenager. Although that adventure is long passed, it's one I hold on to and think back on fondly. 


Thanks for the coffee this morning dad. Thanks for all of the adventures.




























Congratulations to "Little Off North" for winning this month's giveaway!