Let it be known that Father is the person behind the camera. The person who sat there and did nothing to lend a hand as I fell to the ground like a freshly-cut redwood. The person who put my safety second behind his precious picture taking.

It’s cool, Dad. As long as you got the shot. Rump hole.

Over the weekend, I attended two parades that were thrown in my honor. Liked the big, shiny red trucks with lights flashing. The people inside of them with their super-soaker water guns pointed towards the crowd – not so much.

And the hippies. Wasn’t a big fan of all the hippies. This may be an eternal struggle for me.