Dads and Sardines

I’m standing in the cheese shop right now looking at the many, many sardine gift sets that I stocked up on for Father’s Day because I decided that they are the perfect dad gift. I think sardine loving dads are plentiful around these parts, but mostly because I know my own dad loves them. I have (fond?) memories of the smell of them from childhood. My dad, also named Scott, is not a man that is afraid of eating “weird” foods including hearts from a deer that he hunted, and gizzards from a chicken at KFC. I am in no way trying to yuck his yum here – believe me – I know we are all entitled to love what and who we love, but come on, those foods were a little odd, right?  

But now I am thinking about how he must have felt about what I loved. Imagine me as a child forcing him to take me to Disney on Ice, tap dance classes, years and years of Nutcracker rehearsals, and so many more gay-ass things. My yum was never yucked once, not once. He raised me with the confidence to love what I love and to be unashamed. And since two years ago I decided to put my name with my husband’s on the cheese shop window in 24 karat gold, I guess it’s still working.  

A few years ago he sent me a book that inspired me to chase this cheesy dream that comes true on the daily. It was all about the little steps we take to build the life we want, and it worked I tell you. What started out as intentional walks to the river turned into having no boss, being on CNBC, and all of you, my cheese friends. 

What more can I say to this man besides thank you for loving me, all of me, and I love you too. All of you. 

xoxo, and Happy Father’s Day, Dad,
Scott

Two Scotts (I was known as Scotty then) at Thanksgiving.