Dear Dad

Dear Dad,
… are you really my dad? Because I’ve been thinking about this for years now and it still just doesn’t add up. Okay, yes, I inherited your stubbornness and your love of food, but what else is there?
What it boils down to is, sometimes, I just don’t get you.
For example, what was it about last night when I texted you “Hey, I got into the conference I applied for!” prompted you to respond with “Congrats, by the way we had to put Sugar (my dog) down a couple weeks ago”?
Thanks pops, I had a major high goin’ there, but you officially killed it with that one.
I mean, seriously? You’re gonna tell me via text message that the dog we got when I was 2 and the dog that I grew up with was put to sleep two weeks ago?
Never mind the whole text message thing, let’s focus on the fact that this information is two weeks late, shall we?
I’m not saying anything was gonna change. It’s not like I would’ve been able to rush to her side or anything, but still, the dog deserves more than two weeks late in a test message. She also deserves a helluva lot better than being announced as a buzzkill when I come home with good news.
So, yeah, think about that next time I say I’ve got good news. Ask yourself, “Is this really the time or the place?” Because I bet dollars to donuts it’s not nearly as opportune of a time as you think it is.
Your Son


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