Father of the Pride

This is how my family spent Father's Day yesterday.

Yes, we watched the US Open with my dad and pretended we all cared about the result of a televised game of golf.  It was the least we could do for our patriarch, the man who cut off his toes with a lawnmower and who once blew up our front lawn with dynamite in an attempt to get rid of a beehive.  Oh, and there were gifts.  Boy howdy were there gifts.

My sister Annie presented a wrapped present to my dad, saying that it might be the last Father's Day gift he would ever get from her.  Inside was a DNA Paternity Kit, a la Maury Povich.  Wishful thinking, Annie.  You have his stubby little hands and love of boring books about wars and stuff.  I'm afraid you're stuck with him.

I also discovered this 80's era picture of my dad.  The hair is just incredible.  He looks like he should be doing ads for the Men's Wearhouse.

So Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there, as well as the father figures and the single moms and the Fathers of Rock and Roll and creepy older dudes who call themselves Sugar Daddy.  I hope your daughters are a lot nicer to you than we are to my dad.  His self-esteem has deflated in volume more than his hair in the last twenty years.