My father's daughter

Happy Birthday, Dad!

For as long as I can remember, I've always been told that I'm my father's daughter. If you believe that astrology has any affect on your personality traits, then I suppose it was kind of unavoidable since I was born the day before his 31st birthday. We share--for the most part--the same sense of humor, the same temperament, the same taste in cars and the same ass-kicking driving style (and speaking of driving: the same ability to drive my mom crazy), the same lack of patience with rude people, the same inability to beat-around-the-bush, the same love for people-watching, the same fascination with all things Chihuly, and the same appreciation for anything that is of-from-around-or-about Italy. Oh yeah, we also have the same nose, though mine is MUCH smaller and cuter.


No need for an actual DNA test, just look at us. Dad at hardball league, holding a beer. I'm the shorty behind him, holding a beer of my own, or so it seems. 1982-ish.

Whenever our family is sitting around reminiscing, our parents complain that my sister & I only remember "the bad stuff"; like having to spend every hot summer Saturday weeding underneath the biggest magnolia tree you've ever seen, or how when we were teens we had a 10-minute time limit on every phone call and how they always knew when time was up even if they were an entire floor below us.

How about the time I got grounded in 4th grade for 6 whole weeks because I got a 'D' in handwriting, while the fact that Dad's handwriting was so sloppy he was often asked if he was a doctor seemed to escape him as he handed down my punishment. Irony, even as a 9-year old, was not lost on me. I just had enough sense to keep it to myself.

I also enjoy bringing up how I had a 10pm curfew all the way through high school when my friends were practically just beginning their weekend night festivities... but all those "bad things" are sometimes more entertaining to look back on now that my sister & I are adults.


Just let your soul glo! The afro seen 'round the world. 1979-ish.


The truth is that there was a lot more good stuff than bad. As a teen I would have disagreed, but it turns out that it's important to have parents who set boundaries and have high expectations of their children because as our parents always say, we turned out alright after all!


Dad & Mom, dating in their teens, plotting how to torture their future daughters with things like personal responsibility and curfews. THE NERVE!


Mom & Dad. Venice Beach, 1993-ish.

Thanks for everything, Dad. I'll try to bring up more of the good stuff when we sit around telling stories the next time, like when you taught me (at 16) to drive your hot new stick shift sports car and I almost killed us in the middle of an intersection when the car died as I was trying to make a left turn. You didn't lose your cool with me, not for a second; even when I was panicking because I couldn't get the clutch and the gas pedals synced up and the car died again, after it sputtered a few feet closer to the swiftly approaching oncoming traffic.

You just yelled, "GO! GO! GO!" and then... I did! That pretty much sums it up. You're always there, spurring me on to simply put my mind to something and do it.


Clearly up to no good in 1987. Speaking of that 'fro... It looks as if Missy decided to sport that look too, but it was just the wind.

You're the best, and not only is that a compliment for you, but it's a compliment for ME because I'm proud to say that even after all of these years, people still tell me that I'm my father's daughter. But they always add, "with a MUCH smaller and cuter version of his nose!" Really, they add that, I swear.

Happy Birthday! I Love you.