Today I celebrated Father's Day with my dad. Which meant that he rode his bike through the MetroParks, towing me by a bungee cord. And I got to comb his back hair.
I hadn't been rollerblading for a year because it's not 1996 anymore, and when I ask people if they want to go, they laugh. But my dad's not one for trends (although he was rockin' trucker hats waaaay before the hipsters did), so I knew he'd be down for a jaunt through the park.
And, ha! I did see other roller bladers in the park. Ok, so one guy looked like his graduating class voted him "Most Likely to Listen to C&C Music Factory for the Rest of His Life." One blader was like my grandpa's age, and one woman wore a fanny pack—and a neck brace. Yeah.
It was flippin' hot out, so for two of the four mile ride, I held on to bungee cords on the back of my dad's bike as he pedaled along. (That's what I'm talkin' about!) And, still, when we were done, all the blood in my body had congregated in my cheeks. My face couldn't have been more pink if I was twelve years-old and someone announced to the class that I had my period.
Later, my pop entrusted his [quickly vanishing] head of hair to me an a pair of scissors. I rested in the knowledge that he wouldn't flee to the barber after I put in the work, as two of my friends had once done. Again, function over form with this man. So I hacked away, sending blobs of hair into the summer breeze.
If you didn't already know, my dad is a hairy, hairy man. So when I finished, I combed his back and chest to free up any clippings. And I really can't think of a better image that captured Father's Day—and my love for my dad.