That being said-- I will now go into detail on something he needs to stop doing.
Every morning before he leaves for work my father comes into my room and my sister's rooms to kiss us goodbye.
This is not the thing he needs to stop doing. This is a kind, endearing act, which he has done for as far back as I can remember, and which I thought all fathers did until some point up around fourth grade when I discovered that they did not.
Most times he walks in softly, kisses us on the cheek, and says something along the lines of "I love you, I"ll see you later tonight, " or "I love you but I have a dinner tonight, so I'll be home late, or "I love you; have fun at work."
I'm sure you can all wrap your minds around the basic concept here. He is a loving father.
He came in yesterday and was standing by the side of the bed, his hands folded in front of him like he was standing in line for something. He is quite obviously waiting for me to say or do something so I give him my full attention by moderately opening one eye and swiveling it up so it's looking at him. And very politely, he says, "I know it's early, but if you've got a minute would you look over the details on the lease I'm faxing out on your apartment?"
And I try to express, with my one, half-open eye, that it is six o'clock in the morning, but that if he brings it over next to my bed and explains it to me, I will listen to whatever it is he's saying.
Now I am not exactly on top of my game at 6 in the morning. Especially when my game is "see how long you can sleep without dad coming in and waking you up." I am on the very bottom of my game at this point in time.
I am horrible at this game. I lose every day.
So he stands there and starts reading something off this lease agreement and all I can do is lie there (I am not exactly a graceful sleeper) sprawled out on the bed like a murder victim, with my one half-open eye and my hair sticking out and this drugged, semi-conscious look on my face, wondering if he understands that it is six o'clock in the morning and I can't even tell if he's reading the lease agreement or the articles of confederation, since everything out of his mouth sounds like obscure clicking noises.
But he seemed really happy, like he was glad he had that whole business out of the way.
So today I pry apart my eyelashes to see that he is, once again, standing next to me, feet shoulder with apart, hands folded. Waiting. And tax returns are done, my apartment lease has been transfered, my car insurance and medical bills have been taken care of...I have no idea what he was hoping to discuss.
So I said, "Can I help you with something?" Except, of course, it was 6 in the morning, so what I actually said was, "Ffffrrt?" Because as we have established, at six in the morning, I am not fully operational.
And, beaming, he says, "I just wanted you to know how happy I am to have you home, since I know you have your own life and you won't be here that long, but I'm just so happy to have you back."
And how the hell can I be mad at him when he says that? So I smiled and said "ffrrrrt," a few more times and puffed out my cheek so he could kiss it without my moving my neck.
He tries so hard.
He also calls us, sometimes, when we're not living at home. If the phone didn't wake me (which it usually didn't) up I'd get disgruntled messages from my roommate, saying, "Your father said to tell you that he called and he thinks you're a fabulous daughter."
My sister in Albany got him to stop calling her before eight in the morning, which led to his calling her, and then me, at almost exactly eight in the morning, going, "I'm so proud of myself that I promised I wouldn't call before eight and I waited till eight FIFTEEN."
And I'm going, "Yeah dad, that's awesome. But here in California, it's just after 5 AM, so why don't I get back to you when it's not pitch black outside."
But of course I didn't actually say that. What I actually said was, "ffrrrt."
Imagine how much more my dad would love me if he found out I was capable of polysyllabic words...