Dear Dad

Dear Dad.

Things are moving fast now.  I've been running away, trying to ignore this darkness looming ever closer, even as I hear the footfalls louder behind me.  Now I turn around, ready to face it and it's already passing me by, slipping through my fingers faster than I can grab hold.  It shouldn't be this fast, all of this life and all of this death.  I need a minute to catch my breath, to gather my thoughts, but it's all going too damn fast.

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Dear Dad.

Did I ever tell you that my favorite picture of you is one from when you were in the army?  You're sitting on the ground, so young, with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth and this cocky look on your face.  You look like you know everything.  You look like you are sure you're right.

You look like a pain in the ass.

It's my favorite.

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Dear Dad.

I will be okay.  The fire you say you see in me, it will keep going and I will keep writing and I will stay true to all of these things I believe in.  And I will be okay.

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Dear Dad.

I remember being very small and sitting in the bathroom with you, watching you shave.  I remember the smell of your neck when I would hug you.  I remember walking with you into Fenway Park for the very first time.  I remember that you can whistle louder than anyone I've ever met.  I remember that I couldn't wait to call you after First Born arrived, that it was 3 in the morning in Seattle and 6 in the morning here and I was aching and exhausted and thrilled and I couldn't wait to tell you.  I remember the look on your face when you first held him.

I remember.

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Dear Dad.

All is right between us.  There is no distance, there are no miles, there is no time lost.  There is only us now, where we find ourselves now, and that's a damned good place.

I know you would agree.

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Dear Dad.

Thank you for ordering me lasagna when I was 5 and making me try it.  That's good stuff.

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Dear Dad.

I am proud to be your daughter.

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Dear Dad.

When I was visiting when I was 15 or so and you let me go out with that boy who lived across the street (the paperboy), I'm pretty sure I lied to you and said that mom let me date.  She didn't yet.

Sorry.

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Dear Dad.

I want to tell you not to be afraid.

Except that I *am* afraid.  So, rather, I will say that I will be there, with you, even if my body is not.

I will be there.  

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Dear Dad.

Thank you.

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Dear Dad.

I love you.  

Candygasm

Today is the day after the day after Halloween.  This means I've gained 17 lbs in a day and a half because I've been eating Milky Ways for breakfast.

Also for lunch. 

And possibly dinner (which I do in secret so that my kids don't know I'm eating chocolate while they're eating green beans...sometimes being the parent is actually AWESOME.)
As this week goes on, the supply of good candy is going to start to dwindle, and no matter how many times I dig through the Big Bowl O'Sugar, the inferior candy will be all that remains.  Who am I talking about?

Does anyone ever choose Junior Mints over other forms of chocolate?  Have you ever met a kid who actually LIKED Junior Mints?  When my youngest was about 3, he insisted on trying one because he was certain it was an M&M, no matter how vehemently I tried to warn him otherwise.  He popped one into his mouth, immediately spit it out, and said to me, "Mama, this M-a-M yucky."  

Yes.  Yes, it is. 

There's an unspoken understanding that exists in our society about candy:  that it will taste good.  DOTS blatantly disregard that understanding, opting to go with a plasticy-chemically taste rather than any sort of deliciousness.  Why do Americans continue to buy DOTS when they so clearly violate the standards of candy decency?  We should be ashamed.

Oh, Tootsie Roll.  I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're the candy we eat when all other candy options have been exhausted.  You're the candy we turn to because it's late and we're craving sugar, but we're too ashamed to admit to our friends that, yeah, I hit the Tootsie Roll last night.  We feel dirty and ashamed afterwards because you're never worth the calories, you're never actually a satisfying candy experience, and yet we inevitably find ourselves reaching for you in the middle of a cold, lonely night. 

But, chin up, Tootsie Roll, because it could be worse.  You could be your unfortunate cousins:

No one eats those ever.  They go right in the trash.  Feel better, regular Tootsie Roll?  Thought so.

A final word on candy, specifically, the misnomer that is 'Fun-Size'. 

I ask you this:  WHICH OF THESE LOOKS MORE FUN?

Dear Candy Manufactures:

Whoever told you that smaller = more fun has been lying to you.

Hopefully it wasn't your wife.

Sincerely,

Jenn