Today would've been my dad's 47th birthday.
We went to the cemetery today and put flowers and balloons by his grave. I hope he liked my rendition of 祝你生日快乐 ("Happy Birthday" in Chinese), even though I was pretty much blubbering when I sang it.
You know, I'll never understand this, but the only thing my dad ever wanted for birthdays, Christmas, you name it — were socks. He even told me one time that I could get him "a rock with some mud on it" and he'd be happy.
That's the kind of person he was.
I suspect, however, that he also spent some time in a super-secret organization learning the dark art of Gift Guessing, because he always made a big show of guessing his Christmas presents with 95% accuracy.
That's the kind of person he was.
I suspect, however, that he also spent some time in a super-secret organization learning the dark art of Gift Guessing, because he always made a big show of guessing his Christmas presents with 95% accuracy.
"Oh, I know what this is . . ."
Don't say socks, don't say socks!
