Even though I haven’t posted about him in awhile (Giving him a break from the limelight? Keeping him on his toes?), my Dad has been diligently undergoing his all-too frequent rounds with chemotherapy. (He has another one today.)
But last night? He out-Dadded himself. Here are some things I know about the man:
a) He’s famous for the phrase “Buck up.” (Unless his grandkids are around and looking snacky, then it’s “Who needs another Munchkin?”)
b) He personifies Monty Python’s “It’s merely a flesh wound.” Nothing fazes the man. I remember reading something when I was little that roughly went- A man shouldn’t cry unless a piano falls on him. Or something like that. Whatever the exact wording was, it always made me think of my Dad.
c) Nothing stands in the way of his guitar playing. At yesterday’s performance of Live On The Lake, my Dad- who’s been dealing with some nerve ending non-awesomeness in his fingers as a result of all the chemo- DUCT TAPED A PICK TO HIS FINGERS to aid in his shreddin’.
Duct tape. Fingers. Not letting a little thing like cancer prevent him from playing for his adoring fans. (Like my Mom.) How frickin’ badass is that?!
At dinner last night, Nora casually referred to my Dad as SuperPop.
She’s so, so right.
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