The year before Dave and I married, I had the opportunity to live and work in London for three weeks on a corporate exchange program. A normal person would've been thrilled, but I hate to fly, I had never been away from Dave that long, and I have a tendency to get homesick after a few days away. Still, even I knew this was a huge gift that I couldn't pass up. I waited till a family vacation to break the news to Daddy.We were walking along Orange Beach together, looking out at the Gulf, when I brought it up:
Me: "Well, Daddy, I've got some news. They want to send me to London for three weeks."
Daddy (without missing a beat): "Wha'd they say when you told 'em you weren't going?"
Of course, I did work up my courage and go. And once he saw how torn I was, Daddy became a real trooper and actually nudged me to England. The same thing happened again, when I was about to fly home from another work trip to Utah. (What is it with me, planes, and life moments?) I had a semi- panic attack about that flight and called home. Daddy—who hates the thought of me on a plane—somehow managed to sound as cool as a cucumber and convinced me that coming home at 35,000 feet is the most normal thing in the world. Why, millions of people do it every day.
So thanks, June Bug, for all those times you've had to work up your courage to give me mine. Happy Father's Day!