-Thank You Note-

​I am sitting at my kitchen table glancing out of my balcony window at the little rabbits that are running through the brush of the hillside, outside my apartment. They are such a symbol of spring, to me. It feels so brisk and fresh outside. I feel like after months of freezing winter I can finally breathe in the spring. My seasonal depression is drifting away, slowly. Sunshine always heals me. As I sit here typing away on my laptop, I am snacking on left over goat cheese bruschetta I made for dinner last night. I adore a good slather of goat cheese, on anything really. It is one of my favorite additions to any foods. Don’t like a salad? Add goat cheese! It is my key to surviving bland meals. Although, I try not to overeat it and ruin the magic for myself. I let my hair do its natural thaaang today. My hair is a gift from my mother. We both have long brown hair that curls and waves, but only on certain parts of our heads. We both have cowlicks that demand to be respected, honored, and worked with. We both have to wake up and listen to what our hair wants to do that day. We don’t make that decision- the hair does. I get many traits from my mom, so naturally it is easy for me to write about. I also inherited a great deal of personality from my dad. I recently visited with him inside his shop, and we laughed and talked about our dynamic. We are both Taurus’s, stubborn as hell. I don’t know if I actually believe is astrology, but I DO believe my dad and I are bull headed, at times. My dad is tall and skinny, whereas I am NOT. My brother Dillon and him look so much alike. Side note- Dillon got a lot of the good genetics. I think I would be so much nicer if I was tall and skinny. I would be more graceful? (kidding). I did recently do one of those genetic testing kits from 23 and me and guess what!? I have 63% more Neanderthal DNA than the average 23 and me costumer. Dillon hasn’t taken the testing, but I KNOW that asshole probably doesn’t have the extensive Neanderthal DNA I do. Just my luck. He probably got all the cool shit, like the ability to match musical pitch. My testing showed I was more likely to be bit by mosquitos. Ahhhhhh genetics. I am just kidding; I like me. It just felt like a HAHA moment worth sharing. I don’t share many physical traits to my dad, but we act very similar. We love laughing, and making other people laugh. We excel at making each other crack up at really inappropriate times. I cherish the fact that as a child I could give him one of my razzle-dazzle-ham-it-up laughs and he would melt away from whatever trouble I was in, and just smile at me. He is the only person that smile works with, and his smile can ground me in midst of any anger or uncertainty. We both have crooked grins, which look nothing alike- but carry the same playfulness. My dad has a slight crookedness to his nose, a sign of a previous self, who perhaps got into one or two fist fights. I love his nose because it is HIM. He is beautiful in the way only genuine and flawed people are. My dad has dark hair that has peppered with age but has always looked the same otherwise. He carries with him a sense of healing others- which I can only hope both my brother and I inherit even a fraction of his selflessness- because the world needs more people like him. Dad has always been a mender to my worries, it is like gravity pulls me to him when I need help. We may not always agree on everything (maybe that is the Taurus in us), but he listens earnestly and loves me through life, completely.  He taught me all of my favorite swearwords and could care less when people tell him MY swearing isn’t ladylike. He likes me the way I am. I am lucky for that. When I was a kid, I told people I wanted to be a mechanic when I grew up, because I loved watching him with his cars. We found out when I was a sophomore in high school what a very shitty mechanic I would be, when I had to take apart and rebuild a small engine. Easy enough task for most, but it turns out my brain doesn’t understand that sort of stuff. For our final, our small engines had to run. Mine wasn’t working out so well. My partner Travis did most of the work, but on days he was absent I’m sure I forgot to put some parts where they belong. I don’t know that for certain, but it sounds like a reasonable thing for me to do. My dad came up to the high school shop and sprayed the engine with carb cleaner so it would run. Don’t ask me why that works, because I have no fucking clue. I do know my dad showed up, as he always has for me. He is wise in ways I never have been; he understands how things run. In cars, life, people. I love that about him. He is a wise soul who has bailed me out time and time again. My dad has told me wild and entertaining stories of his youth. He, like I, is not perfect. He told me about when he would get into real trouble, his dad, my Grandpa Dallas, would not lose his shit with him, instead he often asked him to remember a bible verse. I think those moments of grace from his dad heavily influenced his parenting. He never made me feel small for my wildness. He often just reminded me to pay it forward someday. AND OH BOY WAS I A WILD CHILD. I take partial credit for his gray hair, Dillon owning the other half. He has loved us through all the stages of life. As I said- I am lucky for that! Love you, dad!
-Libbs
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