A Daddy's Advice--When Your Dad is Insane.

I don't talk much about my father on here. I've hinted at my ex-step-dad. I've mentioned my real dad maybe a few times. This may have given the impression that we aren't close. In reality, that's the farthest thing from the truth.

I love my dad. He's crazy--like, clinically, has the papers to prove it insane. When I was young, I so wanted him to be normal that I shoved him out of my life. Now, we talk every day. It's not a very father-daughter relationship, but I know for a fact that he loves me. And, if I listen, carefully, and with a grain of salt, he has some very good advice and comments. Granted, they're quite...uhm..crude..sometimes, lol, but often, like him, at the heart, they're good.

Today, I've been mulling over mine and Stephen's bumpy waters over the last...well, nearly a year, really. All the ups, all the downs. And I remembbered a conversation that Dad and I had, right at the heart of everything.

I was crying and angry, bitter as gall. "I just...ugh! I hate him sometimes!" I spewed.

"Well, I reckon you do," Dad said in his typical hill-billy drawl.

"And you shouldn't stay with people you hate!" There was a pause. "You disagree?" I asked, all ready to fight, to defend my position.

"Well, I figger you hate everybody at some point. And I figger that's because ain't nobody not gonna let ya down."

"So, you're staying I should stay? I don't know, Dad. I think I just fell in love with the wrong person."

"Bullshit," he answered immediately.

"You don't think I did? He CHEATED, Dad," I reminded him.

"That maybe true. But, ain't what I'm saying is bullshit. You don't fall in love, Grace. That's for the movies. And it's bullshit. You don't fall in love. You fall in shit. You fall in a hole. You fall and bust your ass. You don't fall in love. It's something you work at. It's something you want to give up on. It's something that's damn hard, and spends at least a quarter of the time being a colossal pain in the ass. It's not something you fall in. It's a two way extra job. I don't know if you oughta stay, and I don't reckon that's anyone's choice but yours. But, like with any job, you gotta decide if the pay is worth the stay." A pause, while I considered this and he grumbled, "Fall in love. What a load..."

Today, while I sit at home, waiting on Stephen to come home, I've considered that conversation quite a bit. He and I are going to the library. Just like we did when we were younger. To sit on the lily pads and read kids books, and sign, and laugh 'cause of how awkwardly we signed something that was so obvious, or how well we signed it, should our hands shake off enough rust.

We've laughed more in the last two months than we have in the last year. We've had more heart-wrenching, tear filled conversations than we have ever. I've had nightmares. He's brought me ice cream and flowers. We've gone to dog parks and real parks and had game nights. And, I've loved him.

And he's loved me, better than he ever has.

And, it's been work.

I've decided Dad was right.

You don't fall in love.

You work at it.

Both of you.

And it's hard.

And you cry.

You laugh.

You yell.

You (get)spanked, or spank. (If you are DD, lol. In which case, it is unwise to yell.)

Either way, you work.

And, when that happens?

It works.