09/17/2004 - 12:39 a.m.

And now for the main and final reason why I hate the month of September.

Today was the day 7 years ago that my dad died. However, I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I know I've already talk about this before, so I'm not going to go over it again...so I'll just leave you with some links...maybe tomorrow I'll flesh this entry out a bit more...

I love and miss you daddy :(

This Week in Bosnia 9-23-97

Transcript from a Memorial Service Held in DC

Actually, I can't seem to think of anything else to say about this matter. The fact that this is the first time in seven years that I haven't talked to my mom on this day is a bit disconcerting but...*shrugs*

I know that my dad wouldn't have wanted it that way though. He was always trying to get me and my mom to at least pretend to get along with each other. He was our mediator so to speak, and my biggest champion.

This was the man who every Tuesday night took me to the library and every Saturday took me to the bookstore. The one who helped me with my math homework and attempted to try and help me understand it, though I never did. The one who I helped put a new floor in our dining room and kitchen. The years that we'd go to the fair...taught me how to ride a bike and let me keep a cow named Boo-Boo because he was my favorite. Who bought me a hamster on my 8th birthday and named it George. Who picked up my dress for the prom from the rental shop and never complained that it was too revealing...

The man who soothed my first broken heart by telling me that the guy wasn't good enough for me anyway and that I'd find someone better as I sat in front of the fireplace and burned every love letter the guy had written me.

The one who took me to numerous school dances even though he knew I never danced. He called me Lydia because I reminded him of the character Winona Ryder played in Beetlejuice because I wore black all the time and my dress for my junior high prom was black with black lace.

The man who stood in the kitchen with his old bass guitar and showing me how to play the bass line to Whole Lotta Love and Sunshine of Your Love. At midnight...on a Thursday.

The man who would have me go over his lesson plans and have me proofread his lesson plans for spelling errors. The one who always told me that whatever I chose to do with my life career wise to be the best I could be at it. And never once told me I was being silly even when I said I wanted to be a rockstar*grins*

The man who 1 week before my 16th birthday, on our way back from our weekly outing at the mall, stopped the car in the middle of the road and said"Get out". Because he decided to teach me how to drive. And even laughed when the very first thing I did was run the car into a ditch.

If you ask me who my hero is, I'll tell you. My dad.

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