Stardate 06/21/2005 (Father's Day)

Not much happened today so I thought I would talk about this last weekend...

My father came for a short visit! How strange.

We (Scott, Mom, Lily and I) met him at IHop on Sunday.

Aside from a few (ok way more than a few) extra pounds and the fact his hair (what little there is) was totally white-He had not changed a bit (in looks or attitude) since I last saw him five years ago. He was still the same old Dale.

This meeting was quite the event, too. This was Scott's first time to meet him. Poor Scott. I tried to warn him before hand. Nothing can really prepare you for a visit from my father.

During breakfast at a VERY busy IHop: I kept repeating "He just doesn't know any better" and "He means well" over and over to myself. He had successfully scared off our first waitress (5 Minutes in) and offended our second (15minutes in.) He was well on his way to setting us all up for a execution style massacre by the many Merced gang and gang affiliated folks around us with his loud proclamations of "Mexi-cans" "Wet-backs" "Lazy Blacks on welfare" "Chinks" and my favorite "Mr. Bush-the best president we have had in a very long time."

After an hour I left the table in search of my mother (who had left us 20minutes earlier) and a bit of sanity. Scott stayed. Brave Scott.

It's at these times one might begin wishing to have been given the choice to choose their parents.

On one hand: There are many factors that contributed to my father and the person he is today. He grew up in Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl. He was "hauling 50 pound bags of cotton" at the age of twelve. He was the unwanted middle child. He grew up in a very backwardly strict religious family. He was picked on relentlessly as a youth for being red headed. He had a hard life.

On the other hand I feel like there are too many excuses. For all that went wrong for him worse has been heaped on to so many who have turned out to become the worlds greatest leaders. I suppose for some it makes them stronger and for others it simply breaks them.

My father is broken. I love him still.

He was a good husband to my mother for many years. He cared for my brother and sisters like they were his own. And last but not least-He helped create me (although I was "an accident.")

It may be another 5 years before I see him again. With his health the way it is-This could have been our last meeting. Who knows? The funny thing is I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.