Who’s Your Daddy?
For years, Father’s Day has been just another Sunday for me.
Oh sure, I knew it was there! After all, I don’t exactly live under a rock and I noticed the ads for grills, power tools, and riding mowers on TV and, of course, by late Saturday evening my web content changed.
But, truth be known, since my own Dad passed in the very early nineties – and since he had never been the kind of guy that appreciated an annual trek to the cemetery in the name of laying a bouquet of doomed roses across a slab of granite – for the most part Father’s Day was just another laundry day for me.
This year’s a little different…
Most of us, when we think of Father’s Day think of our Dads, maybe a husband, probably, at the very least, some man that’s fathered a human child but, like I said, this year’s a little different for me and I got to thinking: hasn’t the term always been used in other ways?
The Father of our country, the Father of the Blues…
The Father of this Blog.
See, Monster, this little blog would have never existed without you. You were the one who inspired it and, though I can only write from my own perspective, when you get right down to it, you’re the one it’s all about.
You’re the one who SEOs the living shit out of it and you’re the one that’s taken it so far past what I ever imagined.
You’re the one who, when I think it would be easier to just give up, sit on my hands and feel sorry for myself, is there to listen to my moaning and rocking and then get me up off my ass and to the keyboard, by wheedling, cajoling, and sometimes just making me so damned angry I could spit nails.
Or pound keys.
You’re the one who inspires me to try to be better, not just accept status quo, and, while I’m here, Mr. Admin, I need to tell you that the finest compliment I’ve ever received was Halloween night, when I passed underneath you and around your coworker and heard you tell him: “That’s my writer”
It’s the 100th anniversary of Father’s Day, and, financially, it’s been one bitch of a year so I’m a little short of cash and couldn’t swing that grill or the Skilsaw set… Hell, I couldn’t even afford a card.
But you’re very much appreciated. You’re my very best friend. And I needed to let you know.
So have a happy one, Mr. Admin.
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Tags: Blog, coworkers, Holidays, love, Monster, Mr. Admin, Projects, trustRelated posts
Tags: Blog, coworkers, Holidays, love, Monster, Mr. Admin, Projects, trust
