I called him today at work and he answered with his standard "Terry Worley" to which I responded my standard "Hi Terry Worley, this is Terri Worley!" and then had to correct myself: "oh wait, Hamilton... I'm not Terri Worley!" ha! I am unused to this whole name change situation.
My dad and I have shared more than just a name over the years, and I knew I wanted to use this new forum to tell one or two fun stories about Dad today. In thinking about stories I might tell about my dad, I called my brother Chuck last night to brainstorm. You see, stories about my mom are easy (although you'll have to wait until September for her birthday tribute) due in large part to our famously turbulent relationship. Most of my mom stories feature me as the supposed victim while mom does any number of nice things for me against my teenage will, and being a fabulous storyteller, I can usually play it up and make us both come out pretty hilarious. No such stories for dad though. Chuck reminded me that while I may not have as many hilarious tales about our dad, I did have a lot of significant time spent with him growing up. Maybe I benefitted from being the only daughter, or maybe it has more to do with being an "only child" from 3rd grade on after Wayne and Chuck went to college. Either way, Chuck is way right. I am SUCH a Daddy's Girl.
My parents and I moved to a condo in downtown Lexington when I was going into 3rd grade, and this began four years of special morning time with my dad. For work-related reasons that I don't specifically remember now, my dad was responsible for getting me up in the morning, taking care of breakfast, and getting me to the bus stop (or in 6th grade, the school) each day. I don't think I realized at the time how great that was, and how big a part of our relationship that was, but thinking about that now... I hope my students have that kind of care starting out each day! Somehow I doubt they all do.
My dad would get me up each morning with a little song. This was our compromise after discovering how very much I am NOT a morning person. The deal was this: he sang "Good morning, good morning, and how do you do?" and I was to respond, singing "Good morning, good morning, I'm fine, how are you?" Over the years that we used this system, I think my response may have more often been "Good morning, good morning, get out of my room" but he took it. I'm guessing that at this point I got dressed and whatnot, but I do know that breakfast was on the agenda every morning, along with a steady diet of Oldies 103.3!
I could ramble on about this for pages, but the practical upshot is this: Thanks Dad! Thanks for all the waking up and the breakfasts (even the oatmeal). Thanks for the oldies station and for calling in to win contests. Thanks for walking me to the bus stop and waiting with me. Thanks for driving me to school in sixth grade, even if you did crank "Duke of Earl" way too loud that one time. Thanks for all kinds of things since then, but thanks especially for those mornings.
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