meinen Vater

My brothers and sisters and I were able to talk our parents into taking us to Disneyland, I think they liked it too. Amidst the candy high, teacups, and the scoldings from Disneyland employees for rowdy behavior (who says they are the happiest people on earth?) I often found myself in line for the Matterhorn. It was my dads favorite, the middle of the Disneyland world. The place I wanted to circle but never stop at. Wiping the churro sugar from my face I would look up at the mountain, in complete horror. “Dad, I don’t want to go this time” I didn’t beg, I knew that would get me nowhere. I tried reasoning with him, “I just don’t feel like it right now.” He wouldn’t budge, we were going. We always went. Some kind of twisted fun, I often thought, dad just wants to see me bawl my eyes out again. Part of this may have been true. I am the youngest of five and they all seemed to enjoy my fear (that had once been theirs). I still feel a twinge of fear every time I board one of those toboggans and head off, with my arms and legs remaining inside the roller car, toward the abominable snowman that I promise I won’t look at this time. I would sit in front of my dad and he would raise my hands up with his. He hooted and hollered, most of the time I cried. After we got off he always looked like he had had the time of his life, and I usually smiled even if my cheeks were stained with tears.



When it comes to dads I'm really spoiled. Not only is my dad real fun, i am the youngest and he was around a whole lot while i was growing up. Lets face it I was pretty much an only child in high school...I got to do so much stuff with just me and my parents. I love spending time with my dad.
I especially love the times that I am talking to him on the phone and then he says "ok, I'm done talking. Love you Karl" The story about the Matterhorn is part of a longer bunch of stories I am writing in my creative writing class about how he taught me to be brave and to always have fun. He is such a good example of that.

This is a picture of us at the top of a mountain. How brave and fun we are. This is Black-en-stein, we call it that because I got hit with a boulder on the way down and it made my thumb look like a zombie thumb.
The experience is really quite funny now and it has been logged away with other family stories but I am really grateful that my Dad holds the priesthood and that he was able to take care of me in such a scary situation.
I love you dad.