my dad

One of the great anticipations of fifth grade, back in 1986, was the week long "responsibility lesson", in which each student was given a raw egg to take care of. Eggs were given faces, hair, and even names. Eggs were never to be left unattended, even when going to the bathroom. If, in the event your egg had not broken by the end of the week, you'd then assemble a "protective vehicle" for your egg to be dropped off the school roof by all the fifth grade teachers. Those whose eggs remained intact, were recognized, given an award, and deemed "responsible" in the eyes of their peers. Prior to the big lesson, instructions were given, such as the "house" each student must create for their egg, including the required measurements and when it was due. As was typical, I waited until the last minute to turn in my abode. While my classmates were fetching their shoe boxes and construction paper, my dad and I made a late night trip to Frank's nursery where we bought the necessary ingredients for my project, including foam core board and acrylics. The end result was a rather posh and swanky habitation, complete with walls and abstract art. If there was a House Beautiful for egg houses, mine, no doubt would have fashioned it's pages.

So, for fancy egg dwellings, I thank you. For exposing me to all things creative, I thank you. For allowing us to have pets, including snakes and newts, I thank you. For make-shift slip and slides on hot summer days, I thank you. You're a wonderful father.

I love you.