I have no idea where this post is going, so bear with me.  

My father died 7 years ago yesterday.  My daughter’s 7th birthday is tomorrow.  Today is the day every year that I contemplate how that all bounces through my head.  Today has me thinking of birthdays growing up and I remembered the worst gift I ever got.  I was around 18 and it was a huge item wrapped in newspaper.  (all of our gifts were always wrapped in newspaper- you could tell how far in advance something was wrapped).  I thought is might be a new driver, or maybe a set of irons.  

Nope.  It was a weed wacker.  You know, for actually WORKING IN THE YARD.  

I was pissed.  I whined and moaned and sulked and wondered why I had such an awful life.  Boy was I wrong.  

It was a joke.  There was another, actual gift.  

Here’s what’s funny:  I don’t remember what the actual present was- I only remember the weedwacker.  

My daughter and father are inextricably bound for me in many ways.  I wish they had met.  They share some mannerisms; both sneeze at least 4-5 times every time they sneeze.    And Josie opens every present just like my Dad; with a genuine, joyful enthusiasm, whatever the gift.  Something to emulate for sure.  

Lokah Samastah Sukinho Bavantu.