On a sunny summer morning over ten years ago, I was walking on the beach with Daddy, getting ready to break some news. I dreaded it. I knew he wouldn't like it. And I was prepared for big drama. With a little help from the soothing waters of the Gulf of Mexico, I worked up the courage to say, "Well, Daddy, the company wants to send me to England to work for three weeks." His mouth flew open. And then he said very calmly, "What did they say when you told them you wouldn't go?" Then he laughed and wanted to hear all about it. My over-protective, opinionated father has this strange knack for understanding when I really need to do something that terrifies us both. When I least expect it, he gives me that nudge I need to take flight (and given my fear of heights, I sometimes need a pretty big nudge—one might go so far as to call it a shove).
He also has a wonderfully inflated sense of my importance in the world. Refusing to accept the notion of casual business attire, he will NOT believe me when I tell him that a freelance writer like me, who does most of her work in a home office with designated seating for each cat, really doesn't need a wardrobe of expensive suits. His answer: "You're a big deal. You need to dress like it."
On this, his birthday, I would like to say thanks, June Bug, for always making me feel like a big deal. I hope I do the same for you. Because you're a really big deal to me. Happy birthday!
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