This week's theme is you and your pop. Being the only girl, with 3 brothers, I kind of had the best of both worlds. I learned to play hard, play lots of sports (never was good at shooting baskets though), but I got to play with dolls, be the little girl to my mom, and be Daddy's little girl. I have lots of memories with my dad. Where my mom is artistic and empathetic, my dad is logical and goofy. And a bit grumpy, no one believes this (even him) but those who are close to him know he can be a bit of a grouch (I get this from him). But he is also fun and funny - we are the two funniest people we know.
This picture is of my dad and me in our backyard on the moped. He would drive me around the back and front over and over again. This lasted until my little brother and his friend Tommy decided to gas up the mopeds with sand.
This picture is of dad and me at a daddy daughter dance. It was a fifties sock hop. I still remember dancing the Jitterbug with him. I asked him about the other day and he says he remembers. These are memories I don't get to share with any siblings because they are between a daddy and his daughter.
He is a great Opa to my kids. He calls at least once a day asking what they have done that is funny. He thinks C is fascinating. He thinks E is the most handsome and funny kid he knows and he loves how J smiles and smiles. He also has always cared about what my friends are up to. He gets excited when one gets married, or has a new baby, or does something noteworthy. He laughs at all the stupid things we have done. He also admires the dad that my husband is.
***edit*** So, I missed the boat on this one. Pop refers to your grandpa. I don't have any pics of my grandpa's and I, just mental pictures in my head. My dad's dad was one of the kindest men I've known. He was a politician and businessman. He was gentle, handsome and gave wet kisses - not gross, just wet. My mom's dad was an army man. He loved to have fun. He is who I get my unfortunate "laugh when someone falls down but isn't terribly wounded" gene from. I remember going snow-mobiling at our family ranch in the winters. He would pull us grandkids on a big tube with a long rope behind the snowmobile, his main goal to throw us from it. Sounds mean, but was actually quite fun (after you brush yourself off, stop crying, rub out the bruise sort of way) and especially fun if you managed to stay on. He had this mischievious twinkle in his eye. And when he swore he would say "Pardon my French", don't know why. Both grandpa's raised boys into great men, and girls into great women.