My Dad Is Tough Enough For The Scrambler (With Kids).

Dad,

As you prepare to smack this latest round of chemo directly in the face, I'd like to remind you of a little story:

It's the story of a Dad. With two little girls. (Well, actually four, but at the time of this tale the smallish ones were running around and shoving things like Tic Tacs up their noses. They weren't doing real things, yet.)

And that Dad did things with his little girls that no one really wants to do. Like wrangle side-ponytail hairdos on his tweentastic daughters. Have conversations about which boys were "cute" and which ones were horrid human beings. (Sometimes the same thing.) And smush himself onto rides with two other people, at least one of whom was a rather seasick individual.

But we never knew. We didn't have the slightest idea that a grown man wouldn't jump at the opportunity to defy the laws of spatial relations and vomitude to bodily secure his kiddos from flying out of a Scrambler which- at best- would comfortably hold two human beings. THAT'S how Dude you are.

So be like that with this round of chemo.

Don't- not even for a second- let the chemo know that it's elbowing you in the face or that you can't feel either of your feet. Tell it to sit down and stop bickering. Because- yet again- you got this.

And not one person who's ever met you is surprised.