My father, Bobo (his nickname and yes, there's a goofy trend in my family for nicknames), and I are close. Very close. Our relationship didn't fully began to blossom and flourish until I was 16 years old. Still, Dad gets my eternal gratitude and full props on his major, life-changing, transforming contribution in guiding me to becoming the woman, parent, friend, sibling, spouse, and human being I am today. He's an amazing man, I'm so proud and grateful for who he is and the role he plays in my life.
|My guys, Bobo & Boomer, 1998|
|Boomer & Bobo, St. Patrick's Day, 2009|
Women marry their fathers. Boomer is thoughtful, supportive, and generous. Boomer likes to entertain, has a quick wit and loves to cook. Boomer enjoys college football more than pro, and doesn't care for baseball.
It was a great day. Dad liked Boomer (what's not to like?). Love for Boomer had yet to be determined. His daughter's heart was on the line after all, so naturally Dad continued to privately critique for a bit. Boomer quickly won him over without trying - just being himself. Women marry their fathers. Boomer loved Bobo instantly (what's not to love?) So much, that in describing the day and my dad to his close buddies, Boomer said, "He's one of us."
Four months later, Dad checked himself into rehab for alcohol addiction. Women marry their fathers (read: Reality). For me, those infamous four words, "He's one of us," where about to go subterranean.