Beating Anorexia...

This post is obviously about my father (pictured on the right.) I don't know if he knows how I feel about him, and that's perfectly fine as me. One day I may link him to this post or actually tell him how I feel. However, he's the kind of guy that you rarely see cry (I've only seen it once and I was crying too) and emotions are rarely talked about with him. I wouldn't have it any other way, actually.

There are a few things that you should know about my father. First of all, I believe that he has had some form of facial hair since he was in the sixth grade. My mother has never seen him cleanly shaved, which I think is really fucking awesome. He loves to hunt and fish. He is also addicted to doing work outside of his job, with a lot of it being volunteer work. He is the hardest working man that I know, and I am one of the laziest that I know. He has told me to get off my fat, lazy ass and do something a time or two. I have no problem with that, actually.

I have no problem with talking to my father on the phone. The conversations are remarkably short and get straight to the point. (This is great because I am a terrible conversationalist over the phone. Ask anybody that I regularly talk with. I do a lot of listening and not much talking. There are often long pauses when I talk on the phone.) He is one of the few people that I actually enjoy getting phone calls from. I've only talked with him for over an hour once, on the phone, and I was completely shitfaced.

What makes my father stand out to me is his reliability. Whenever I make plans with my friends, the success rate hovers around 10%. Whenever I make plans with myself, the success rate is somewhere around 50%. Whenever I make plans with my father, the success rate is somewhere around 90%. It's impeccable. One thing that I hate doing is going back on my word. My father isn't one to go back on his, either. He's much better at it than I am, though. If I ask him for a favor or for some help, I receive it on time. He's like a machine in that aspect.

I have no idea how I will ever be able to repay him or even find somebody to come close to his reliability. If I had to put my life in somebody else's hands, he is my number one choice by a long, long ways (I would be my second choice.) There is one thing that I have always told myself that I would do in honor of him. So far I have held up with my agreement to myself.

When my father was younger, his parents divorced. Instead of living with one parent or the other, he lived with a friend and his family. I don't know much about this friend because my father rarely talks about him. I do know that his friends got into drugs. His drug addiction ultimately resulted in his suicide.

Once again, I do not know the extent of his drug addiction. I do, however, know what my father's views on drugs are. He is staunchly against them, with the exception of alcohol. So in my mind, I can honor my father by staying away from drugs. So far, I have done just that. I also have no urges to try any drugs (besides alcohol, which I have experienced numerous times) and doubt I ever will. My father, who is very far from being emotional, avoiding talking about a certain part of his past has been far more of an anti-drug than anything else that I can possibly imagine.

I do not hate people who use drugs. They just aren't for me. That's all.

P.S. That picture is of my father dragging a deer out of a river. My brother shot the deer and it died in the river, so my father retrieved the deer in his skivvies. He does not actually have a brown rectangle for a head or wear shirts with a swirly white design.

Labels: my father, tributes