315. Dad Crush -

But last Christmas, I came home late. He was asleep on the couch, the TV murmuring an old Western, his reading glasses still on his face. I pulled the blanket up to his chin, and for a second, I just looked at him.

And I thought: Oh. There it is. Entry #315. 315. Dad Crush

The crush peaked the summer I was sixteen. We drove to the lake, just the two of us, after Mom took my sister to flute camp. I remember watching him navigate the boat onto the trailer—backing the truck down the ramp with one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the passenger seat, turning his head to look behind him. The sun caught the gray at his temples. He was just backing up a trailer , but to me, it was a masterclass in competence. But last Christmas, I came home late