I feel like every year I repeat the same things when I talk about my Dad, but I'm fairly sure he never gets tired of hearing it.From my love of sports, to encouraging me to take New York City by the nuts and forcing it to love me, to occasionally picking up a month's rent when I squeezed too hard on those New York City nuts, my Dad has been the most important person in my life.
If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't know a thing about batting averages, free throws or the evils of the Yankees. My poor father ended up with four daughters, and I was blessed enough (no seriously!) to draw the 'son' card.
My Dad had a tough job. He taught me to throw a baseball, but also bought me my first prom dress. We'd play one-on-one in the driveway, but he was also always my ride to the mall. He taught me to drive, but also makes baked ziti that would make most hardcore Italian families jealous. He's been a short-order chef, a driver, a basketball coach, a loving ass kicker and most recently, and most important to me, a loving and compassionate friend. He's the first person I want on the other end of the phone line on the best and worst days of my life.
It's funny how I used to shudder when people told me I was exactly like my Dad, but now I'm proud of it. From our off-beat senses of humor to our tempers, to our matching scowels when the Patriots/Red Sox/Celtics are losing, to the "five-head" we both share, there is no question in anyone's mind that I AM my father's daughter.
And I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you for everything Dad, and I love you so much.
