June 19th, 2011
First of all, I want to wish a very happy Father’s day to the most wonderful dad in the whole world!
Any one who knows my dad knows that he is one of the most gentle and wise and lovable people on the entire earth. He rarely loses his temper, but he always offers sounds advice (even if it’s not what I want to hear) and has been such rock in my life. If you’ve read To Kill A Mockingbird, then you’ll know what I mean when I say he is the real-life Atticus Finch.
Dwew, thanks for being the world’s best leader, coach and father a girl could ask for! Love ya!
I called my dad to wish him a happy day and he spent most of the time talking about how proud he is of me. That’s just the kind of dad he is. Love him. Always ready to tell you that he loves you and all the reasons why he’s proud, happy and thankful.
And in the spirit of the day, I have to share a story with you all. I have a couple of stories that some people ask to hear repeatedly. One is the time I pooped my pants, another is when I was almost kidnapped by my father in the middle of the night.
I have to preface this by saying, that my family and I have no problem sleeping in the same bed. I still go home and, if Dave’s not around, I’ll sleep in bed with my parents. Call us crazy, but it’s just what we do. I remember after my great uncle died, the entire family squeezed into my parents king-sized water bed to sleep.
Also, my dad is rather bald and he hates to turn on the heat when it’s cold, but still has to sleep with the fan on for the white noise. He usually sleeps with a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up to keep his head warm.
With that being said, one night when I was in high school, my dad apparently had a really bad dream about me. I don’t know the exact details of the dream, but it really upset him. So he decided to come up to my attic room (yea, I have the attic bedroom, which is awesome, but also kind of creepy because no one else is around) to take me downstairs for the night with him and my mom.
Well, my perspective was a little different because I knew nothing of a dream. All I knew was the I was awakened out of a very deep sleep one night by a dark, hooded figure.
Not only was I startled but I was scared to death. I did what any 16 year old girl would do and I started to scream. And of course I started screaming, “HELP! DADDY! HELP!”
Well, my dad, kind of flustered now himself and not wanting to wake the entire house did probably the stupidest thing he could:
He put his hand over my mouth to try to shut me up.
This was it. I was being kidnapped. I was going to be taken away and forced to live as a prostitute in the slums of some 3rd world country. Or worse, Altoona.
Of course my dad realized right away that he was just making matters worse, but if he took his hand off my mouth I would certainly wake everyone up. So as I was struggling and sobbing, my dad just kept saying, “SHHHH! STOP IT! SHHH!!”
Finally I realized it was him. I think I realized it when he said, “Abby! Stop it! It’s dad!”
“I knowwwwwwwwwwwwwww!” I sobbed, “BUT I’m just so scareddddddddddddddddddddd.”
So, while my dad is such a sensitive soul—one easily shook by a scary dream about his only daughter—also scared that girl half to death.
I mean really, wouldn’t you be freaked out too?
So there you have it. The night my dad tried to kidnap me.
I love him anyway. I’ve forgiven him since I realized it’s a really funny story to tell.