It Was A Hard Day

Dad defies expectations.

It was a strange day. I now sit on my bed, amidst piles of all my earthly belongings while my mother and sister sit downstairs watching a recording of the American Idol finale. Twelve hours ago I was in the State College CMA printing out receipts, dropping off DVDs, and wrangling with a couch sized copy machine. In between I said goodbye to some of my best friends in the world, left my home of four years, drove for five hours, fixed a mower, pushed said mower out of the mud, and weed-whacked the yard.

Thankfully, in the midst of it all, Dad didn't suggest that I unpack instead of helping with the mower. He didn't protest when I asked to weed-whack so he could spare his back.

And after, my typically fast-talking, gun-shooting, fish-catching, deer-gutting, beer-drinking, fix-everything, story-weaving, joke-cracking father had the wisdom to reveal that he figured I could use some time cutting down the brush. And he was the only one to ask how I was really doing after what he assumed was a hard day. Thanks dad, it is much appreciated.