You see, the matter of old v. young farts has become quite important to me suddenly. My dad turned SIX-OH (6-0!!!) this week. Of all old farts, he's about my favorite because my dad Mark is pretty fuckin' spectacular. He's been so wonderful, in fact, to both myself and my Jersey Mama, that when Joshua was born, I thought to myself, "of course his middle name will be Mark".
Mark and my Mama have taught me the bulk of what's important in life. Laughter, family, laughter, love...laughter. It is from Mark that I get my peculiar sense of humor, my disdain for microwave popcorn and my love of Styx. When I became a single mom (realizing that my ex-husband didn't treat me the way my dad treated my Mama), Mark was Super-Dad, fixing everything he could, offering to come on extra visits to give me a break, and doing God only knows how many loads of laundry.
My parents have been married an awe-inspiring 27 years. My mom, when I was just a little girl, realized that we needed a stand-up guy, a nice guy, a loving guy, a Mark-guy in our life. I am so grateful to her for recognizing that. Because of her, I didn't grow up questioning my self worth or what it meant for a guy to truly love his gal. I had an example. When the right guy came around for me, my own sweet knight, I recognized him for what he was: remarkably similar to Mark.
There were plenty of times where I was a difficult child, a stubborn and mouthy teenager and, oh wait, a stubborn and mouthy adult, too. Never one to do what I'm told, I'm sure it wasn't the highlight of his life to do battle with a teenaged girl. Thanks to him, thought, it has truly been the "Best Of Times".
So, please join me in wishing my dad, the greatest guy I know and the man who adores my mama, a great day. Happy birthday, Mark! Relax, you're hilarious....And asshole-ey!