in praise of fathers

All a sick little girl wants is her mommy. Short of that, her daddy will do, too. I'm very glad my daddy got here Sunday night with Robitussin, Ricola, and DayQuil at the ready. I downed all three before calling it a night. The cough remains, as does the runny nose, and now I've developed a lovely case of eye boogers. Sorry, but if I must suffer in Armenia, you too must perish with me.

There are other reasons why dads are great. They buy you delicious Thai food for dinner, and make you go to smoky jazz clubs because they met the owner on a train in Italy. Then they buy you a $10 glass of cognac because "it's good for your throat."

Also, they want to go to Karabagh and Georgia with you. They even think it'd be fun to have hamburgers on the Fourth of July across the street from Vernissage. They think walking around Yerevan aimlessly is just as fun as you think it is. And they feel as sad as you do when you see the sad, lonely, hungry dogs and cats that wander with even less purpose on the streets. They make you salads with tomatoes and cucumbers, and cut up apricots for you to share.

Dads are great and mine is even better.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANYA! (It was on July 3rd, people. Make the call.)