Family musings: Part I

In a "sometimes-you-embarrass-me-so-much-I-don't-want-to-be-seen-in-public-with-you-but-I'll-still-always-say-I-love-you-back-even-in-front-of-a-crowd-of-strangers" kind of way, my family is crazy and wonderful at the same time.
First, I'm going to tell about my daddy (and yes, I am ok with being an independent, 23 year old woman who still calls her father Daddy.)

Saturdays Dad always scooped me away in his little, red, collectors car to give Mom time off. Those days used to be filled with special rides to visit uncles, buy fresh squeezed orange juice, and check in with the Como Zoo polar bears. Back then I was so little that I thought he was larger than life, especially when I got to watch him shave from the bathroom counter top before anyone else woke up. Now, I'm big enough to know for a fact that he really is larger than life, especially when I watch him try to unclog the icky floor drain in my basement in his polo and boat shoes.
No one forgives fast than my father. When we used to get in fights, circa braces and side ponytails, I could barely slam the door to my bedroom before hearing a quiet knock accompanied by him saying, "Cal? I'm sorry. Lets talk."

I could keep going about sweet, goofy Frank...how he always calls ducks "duckies" while somehow maintaining his Italian dignity; the baby pictures of all three of us kids perpetually wedged in his wallet, ready to be shown to strangers at a moments notice; the fresh squeezed orange juice he still shows up with on Saturday mornings in the little red car...but I think this old picture says more than I ever could.


Thanks for indulging my moment of sentimentality.