In case it wasn’t clear, I married the guy who makes silicon molds so he can bake his own Oreos.
Our mailbox got monstered last night.
I don’t tend to write about “safe” subjects; I feel driven, somehow, to buck certain conventions — many of which are sacred to a lot of people. Some people have asked me whether it bothers me when I’m criticized for what I write. The answer is no, not at all. I don’t think I’m “brave” to write what I do, nor am I offended when others don’t care for it. I share this now because that’s part of what the unconditional approval of a parent does for a child. It acts as a shield against the judgment of others. When our parents approve of who we are, how we act, what we do — even when the outside world doesn’t “get us,” even when THEY don’t fully get us themselves! — it reads as love in the eyes of a child. And that is the greatest gift a child, young or old, can be afforded. So thank you, Dad, for allowing me to always be myself, for encouraging my greatest passion in life, despite the fact that it wasn’t the most lucrative, and for being my biggest, best, and most loyal fan for as long as I have been writing. Never has there been a piece of my writing you didn’t read and compliment. Never have I had a Facebook post you didn’t “like.” (Often you were the only one!) Never has there been a day I haven’t felt your approval of everything I am coming through your end of the telephone. I love you, Dad, and I think you look incredibly handsome in your Satchmo hat. My world is, indeed, wonderful — in no small part thanks to you. Happy Father’s Day.