my car has no air conditioner. after one particularly heavy spring shower during which the windows to my little honda were completely rolled down, the entire unit was ruined. now, it just shoots out warm air. in june.
on another note, there are four post offices near my work. they are all about five minutes away. the people there are typically friendly, except at the one satellite office staffed entirely by teenagers chatting on their phones.
these two stories are unrelated, no?
yes, except for this little fact. at least once a week, i drive 25 minutes away to a little post office two cities over. i brave the awful combination of a steaming car and the thunderous road noise that comes with rolling down my windows to let whatever semblance of a breeze wants to meander through. and i do it for one reason.
my dad works at that little post office. and i get to stand in his line, and his line only. and let other patrons pass around me and go up to the counter to be waited on by another person in a blue uniform. but i wait.
on the man who gave me life. gave me my brown hair and twitchy neck pop. my stutter and my penchant for peanut butter cookies. whose face lights up from across the room when i open the door and the little bell jingles.
happy father's day, dad. i know i'm going to have to remind you tonight when i see you to please log online and see this post. but that's just because the computer is last on your list of things to do. you're too busy living, and you're still teaching me how to.
