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Hollow-Holler
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2004-05-27 - 11:23 a.m.
After seeing some hands very reminiscent of my father's just now, I am remembering how mortified I used to become when my father would clean out his fingernails with a pocket knife every Sunday at church, on the front pew. Now, I think that it's really funny. I mean, just cleaning out your fingernails with a pocket knife, on the front pew at church. That's good, I like that. He was born without social graces, and the older I get the more I appreciate that. He also used to sleep at church very regularly, sitting up, head nodding off, usually snoring, front pew. Oh my gosh, I love my dad so much. He wraps himself up in his hobbies, and does them so well, making beautiful things. Pottery, or guitar, or wood carvings, or planting and tending a really spectacular garden. Like a hard-working piddler. Noah got that from him. Noah also got his bone structure. I love the story where Dad became obsessed with Myst for two days. He didn't go to work, he didn't leave the house, excepting to buy a Myst cheat guide. We woke up that one morning to find Dad in front of the computer, eyes COMPLETELY blood red, no whites at all, because he had been fixating at the screen for so long, not even breaking for the Sandman, but he beat the hell out of Myst.
Oh my gosh, I love him.
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