It was a busy week last week, with school ending and finalizing details for my mission trip, but I have to say: the best part was that my family came to town for a few days. Actually , it wasn’t my entire family, only my parents and Hannah…but still.
It was funny because my parents surprised me by showing up at my work the day they came into town. After I visited with them for a while some of the people I worked with asked me if they were my parents. They were joking around saying things like, “If those are your parents where did you get your height?” I had to explain that George isn’t my birth father (and that having a disease like Cystic Fibrosis can really stunt a persons growth) but I felt weird doing that because I never think about George being anything but my “real dad”. In fact, writing this post and calling him George instead of Dad is a little strange for me.
My co-workers started to ask if I had ever met my birth father and I told them I had not. They asked if I ever wanted to and I told them that I thought about it when I was younger but I NEVER think about it now. I don’t think about it because I don’t care. Why would I want to meet some guy who happens to be my father but has never known anything about me past the age of 2? I don’t need to because I have a father right here; his name is George.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY DAD!