charliesmum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charliesmum) wrote2013-06-14 09:46 pm
charliesmum) wrote2013-06-14 09:46 pm
Hi Everbodeee
So, guess what.I kind of won an essay contest. I kind of think I'm the only one who entered, but whatever. I'm pretending it was my talent that did it.
Some of you may have seen it already. Sand Castle Winery, where I got married last year, had a contest where one could write a 150-200 word essay about why your dad is awesome, and the one that got the most likes won two tickets to their Father's Day Steak and Reds day on Sunday.
So I entered, and my friends, the ones who saw it anyway, liked it, and as I said, as near as I could figure I was the only one who wrote anything, so I won. Yay.
Here's the essay Why my dad is great
‘You beget me, bred me, loved me’ is what Cordelia says to her father in King Lear, desperately trying to find a way express her love to him. (Spoiler alert. She fails.)
I sympathize with poor Cordelia, to define, let alone pinpoint, why I would call my dad ‘great’ is rather difficult. He just is.
Even though he is not my biological father, having married my mom when I was three years old, I don’t remember a time where I didn’t think of him as my father. He killed the spiders in my room, failed miserably in his attempts to teach me math, took me to see Mickey Dolenz and Davy Jones sing at Great Adventure, and grilled me like a judge about the boy taking me on my first ever car date. He was, and is, my Daddy, in every sense of the word.
My father may not have ‘beget’ me, but he did raise me, and I have no doubt that he loved me every bit as much as he loved my sisters, his ‘biological’ children.
And that, too me, is what makes him great.
Meanwhile, Charlie is now going to try his hand at guitar. We bought him a cheap, cheap guitar that was so cheap I wound up buying him a $100 guitar about 1 hour after the cheap one arrived, but that's a story for another day.
And he's almost done his sophomore year of high school. When I started this journal he was six. SIX. Where does the time go?
Some of you may have seen it already. Sand Castle Winery, where I got married last year, had a contest where one could write a 150-200 word essay about why your dad is awesome, and the one that got the most likes won two tickets to their Father's Day Steak and Reds day on Sunday.
So I entered, and my friends, the ones who saw it anyway, liked it, and as I said, as near as I could figure I was the only one who wrote anything, so I won. Yay.
Here's the essay Why my dad is great
‘You beget me, bred me, loved me’ is what Cordelia says to her father in King Lear, desperately trying to find a way express her love to him. (Spoiler alert. She fails.)
I sympathize with poor Cordelia, to define, let alone pinpoint, why I would call my dad ‘great’ is rather difficult. He just is.
Even though he is not my biological father, having married my mom when I was three years old, I don’t remember a time where I didn’t think of him as my father. He killed the spiders in my room, failed miserably in his attempts to teach me math, took me to see Mickey Dolenz and Davy Jones sing at Great Adventure, and grilled me like a judge about the boy taking me on my first ever car date. He was, and is, my Daddy, in every sense of the word.
My father may not have ‘beget’ me, but he did raise me, and I have no doubt that he loved me every bit as much as he loved my sisters, his ‘biological’ children.
And that, too me, is what makes him great.
Meanwhile, Charlie is now going to try his hand at guitar. We bought him a cheap, cheap guitar that was so cheap I wound up buying him a $100 guitar about 1 hour after the cheap one arrived, but that's a story for another day.
And he's almost done his sophomore year of high school. When I started this journal he was six. SIX. Where does the time go?
no subject
And time? Not real. I've given up trying to understand a looong while ago.