Dear Dad,

I love you with all of my heart. I thank God that you are somehow miraculously still alive (you stubborn bastard), probably because you're incredibly freaking lucky. I tip my hat to your clever choices in timing; truly, the heart attack on my prom night was well-played, sir. You probably shouldn't have gone so far as to actually die on the table, though, because... well, the whole defibrillation thing didn't work out too well for you, considering it undid all the fixes the back surgery did on your lower spine. And who knew, a 6'2" man built like a truck, scared of anesthesia. Huh. (Well, I guess I don't blame you there.)

So after two heart attacks, spinal injuries, a bad back, a bad leg that's given you a permanent (but still manly, I promise) limp, AND cancer, I kind of think of you as an old car that's falling apart piece by piece (an old car I'm very fond of, all the same), but... well, you're here, and I love you. Now stop breaking yourself, please.

Thank you for all the things you taught me as a little girl, and for letting me do all the things you would've had a son do.

I'm still amused that I'm the only one of your daughters who can yell at you; someone has to fuss at you, and I'm the only one you'll listen to. Except when you decide to buy things behind my back for me and make me want to strangle you. I love you, but one of these days I will have to haul off and punch you.

I miss the quiet car rides we used to have when I was younger, and I love the way we've always had a mutual, unphaseable understanding of each other, and the way you always said "Don't tell your mother" whenever I got myself in trouble (remember the time I skinned my entire back alive?). PS: Thank you for rescuing my vibrator from mom. I still laugh at that.

I've no reason in particular for writing this; I was just thinking of you, and I wanted to write it down.

I love you, and at the end of the day, I cannot think of a better father, nor one I would love, admire, and respect more than I do you. In some ways, I will always be the little girl walking down to the end of the pier with you (no bigger than your knee), or stripping copper wire on the floor of the garage while you were working on engine repairs. So much of me has come from you, and I wouldn't have it any other way.