papa bear.

I've mentioned my pops before and although my tone sardonizes at times (I just decided that's a word), I speak only in the most endearing of fashions. As my years on this giant ball continue to increase (twenty-FOUR-woof), the realization that I'm a lot more like Rad Dad becomes increasingly evident. One thing in particular I can point out right away . . . channeling our inner child. Before I think this was completely misunderstood between the two of us. Need an example?

"What!? No, you can't quit the middle school band. If you quit the band now, you'll be a quitter your whole life."
Ouch, Pop.
"But Daaaaaaaaad, I hate it and can use my time more effectively in study hall (yeah right). I need to learn."
Bullshit, Daughter.
"Fine. Do what you want but I think you're making a big mistake. Think about your future."
Whatever. I was just sick of the political BS that went into middle school band, even if I was a favorite in the percussion section. I needed some freedom dammit. Two days later I re-joined the band and Pops and I went along our merry awkward way of misunderstanding.

But then I began to realize our similarities. Our ridiculous similarities.

You get the two of us in a car together and here's the typical scene:
Him: We should probably stop for gas first (totally planned) . . . and I could use a Diet MD (ugh, groooss Dad) and some munchies for the road.
Me: Totally. You read my mind, sir.
Gas break. He grabs a DMD, I grab a Diet Coke or something horrible unhealthy like a Frappuccino, he grabs Andy Caps Flaming Hot Fries or Wasabi trail mix, I grab Peanut M&Ms. Shit, it's clockwork.

You've never seen happier little clams than when we're back in the cab, nestled in for a two-hour snack ride up north to his lake house. Don't even get me started on carrot cake . . . that's another story for another day.

With all this in mind, I couldn't have been less surprised last month when he called to tell me about the new rad '82ish hog he bought. It was all I could do not to laugh listening to him rave about it, all the while I was picturing him buzzing down the open road, rocking his flame bandana and skull cap helmet, holding a bag of Andy Caps in his left hand. Top day dream right there. So then I was even less less surprised when he called me last week to tell me he's trading in his 'bike' for this weird go-kart/gator/4-wheeler thing. And so began another fantastic chain of day dreams . . . Pops and Co. buzzing through the woods, crawling over rocks and roots, splashing mud on angry beavers and chasing bunnies. I could hardly contain my elation.

Needless to say, for Father's Day Pops is getting one wicked American Flag helmet. Oh, and you better believe he's gonna be stoked.