Yesterday, my dad had surgery for prostate cancer. Luckily, the surgery went very well, and he should now be cancer-free!
My dad is an amazing dad and granddad. When I was a little girl, he would go to extreme lengths (flying down from the Marine Reserves for a couple hours and then going back) to be at my ballet recitals, even though I clearly had no idea what ballet was at the age of 4.
Dad is always willing to help us with projects around our house - installing a mounted microwave, fixing light fixtures, removing trees (but seriously, climbing a 2-story extension ladder with a chain saw is a BAD idea, Dad!), and driving up here with a truck full of tools so that we can borrow them instead of buying them.
He loves to play with all of his grandchildren - lying in the floor with them, making silly voices (so cute to see such a big guy making baby talk), carrying them around, and feeding them. I think he even tried to change one of their diapers once. (It was a cloth diaper, so that threw him for a loop.)
My dad can also kick some serious butt. He once chased down two (much younger) guys after being pick-pocketed in Barcelona. He caught them, probably COMPLETELY freaked them out and got his wallet back... and made some friends with the Spanish policemen who were very impressed. I think he's an honorary employee of the Barcelona police department now. So, honestly, prostate cancer... you messed with THE WRONG GUY.
Dad, I hope you feel better soon. We can't wait to see you again. Know that lots of people are praying for you.
I love you!
P.S. Miles and Viv, you can't say "butt" until you're at least 16. Do as I say, not as I do.