steve-o

Steve-O.

The man, the myth, the legend.

I have learned a lot of things from all of my parents, but I thought since it was his birthday today, I would write a little bit about the one we know and love.

"Pops"--as I affectionately refer to him, is quite a guy. He is loyal, fun, and secretly a giant ball of mushy love once you get through his sarcastic bite. He has grown to be one of my favorite people in the world.

He's not my "real" dad, as I used to remind him when I was younger (and much snottier), but he loves me like I am his own. Granted, we don't talk about such things--but I know by the way he checks my blog daily, slyly snuck me a cash spot when I was in college, didn't tattle on me to mom about my gallivanting, and by the times that he has sat by my bedside all night long in the hospital the many times that I have been so ill.

He jokes about me being "someone else's problem"--like Marcus' mainly-- but I know we can count on him if we ever needed anything.

He has "lethal knees", especially with the help of several beers, and can terrorize anyone on the dance floor. The image of him circling and swaying at every family wedding reception is quite a sight to behold. It is one that will be permanently ingrained in all of our memories.

I tell him that the root of my digestive problems stems from the "ice cream incident" when I was 5 and my double-decker cone fell into the parking lot. Steve-o told me to stop crying as he dusted the gravel off my ice cream and returned it to my cone. But really, we both know it was because my mom's floors were too clean and I wasn't exposed to enough germs as a child. :)

I love you, Pops. Happy Birthday!