I was in Los Angeles on Father's Day, and so I could not blog about it in real time. But I will make up for lost time now :-).
I am so thankful for my own father - who loves me and raised me. . . For all the swim meets he attended, all the show choir concerts he faithfully came to, all the help with math homework, being so persistent about teaching us Chinese, taking my sisters and me to the library in the evenings, playing all sorts of raquet sports with us, and sharing stories about his own father. He still shows he cares for me in many ways. Even though I am 36, he still brings back a little something for me when he goes on trips; he never fails to send us a postcard from whichever locale he might be passing through; he helps to carry my bags and anything else when I leave home to walk to the car; he brings fruit from whatever is the current harvest in his garden or orchard.
And I am so thankful for *this* man here, too.
He is my better half.
And I have grown to love and appreciate him even more seeing him grow as the father of our children.
He rough houses with them, making them all shriek with delight every night when they play "Tickle Monster."
He tells them goofy stories that I could NEVER make up. Norman the Lint Ball, and SpiderPig are some of the boys' favorite tales from Dave's repertoire. I have to deliberately tell Dave not to make the story too exciting, for fear that it will get them giggling and too excited to fall asleep.
He tenderly holds them when they are hurt or sick.
He has carefully sewn up Nathan's chin when he split it falling in the bathtub.
He is a doctor, but did you know he can also do face (and arm) painting, too?
He has gently removed countless splinters, given so many rides on his shoulders, and has spent many nights sleeping at least part of the night on a mat on the floor or squeezed in a twin bed alongside one of our sleepless or scared children company until they fall asleep.
Happy Father's Day, Dave! We all love you!
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