Just The Way You Are

When I was almost eighteen years old, I had my first "real" kiss. It was with my prom date, Alan. I barely knew him, but he was the son of a friend of my dad, and had a reputation for being a killer dancer, so I asked him to be my escort.

After the prom, I hosted an all-night "dry" bash at my house. Dad helped me build a huge bonfire in the corral, get chips and pop and party food, and get things ready. Then he went inside and left us alone. I'm sure he was as aware as we were that not a single other grad showed up--even my own, non-drinking friends. Despite this, I don't think he even sat by the living room window with his binoculars trained on us the whole night. He trusted me, and that's pretty cool.

The next day, I had a lot on my mind. Kissing wasn't exactly what I had imagined it would be. Alan had been as inexperienced as I, and in the end, I'm not sure how much either of us enjoyed it. Where was the swelling music? Where were the shooting stars? Where were the tingles? Why did it feel more like two leeches joined at the mouth than a magical, mystical experience from heaven?

How cool is it that the person that I trusted most to talk about my first kiss with (and the lack of pleasure therein) was my dad? And he didn't squirm out of it, as many fathers would have done when discussing uncomfortable topics with their teenage daughter. That conversation sticks out in my mind as one of the most amazing memories with my father--he was so cool about it all.

This is only one experience out of many that I could mention about the ways my dad has always been there for me. On this Father's Day, I just want to celebrate that not only is he an amazing father, I am glad that I can also call him friend.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you. (Aren't you glad I don't need to ask you about kissing anymore?)