NO MORE MISTER NICE DAD

Welp.  This is what was waiting in the mystery box my mom sent with me to Chicago.  She wasn’t able to get off work from school, so this was her way of sending me off right. (Also, keep in mind my name is Andrew.)

Dad got on a plane, and now I’m here on my own. 

This morning, I awoke to the sounds of my dad rustling around in the living room. Apparently he brought a lump sum of cash with him on the trip, and wanted to surprise me with it in a gesture as he left for home.  Sometime this week, apparently the cash was misplaced.  So I guess today’s been a mixed bag.

I really could use that cash, but you know what?  My dad took most of a week off of work to come here and sweat with me every day, moving me to the top floor in the last days of Chicago Summer.  Also, I saw him push through the pain of a bum shoulder as, just the two of us, we shoved, tugged, and grunted up the stairs with furniture from I brought from home.  He was there to scramble in the rain from the truck to the lobby, as we unloaded our Ikea purchases into the building.  He was there to help me hang curtains, build my bed, table, and dresser.  He was there to organize my kitchen and to carry home my first groceries.  I could not have moved without the help of my dad.  What I’m saying is, I’ll see money like that again at some point in my life.  This week with my dad is something I’ll only enjoy once.