He is very specific. He clings to tradition and comfort and safety and the past. He is really cute that way. He has asked me to fix things for him recently, because I have taught myself to sew. He still uses his laundry bag from college; it is quite a bit shorter now after having me mend it. I fixed his running pants. I don’t mind.
A while back my Dad asked me to make him a replacement money pouch because the one he currently had was breaking. I said sure, whatever Dad and smiled. I hadn’t heard anything about since. I hadn’t heard anything about it until tonight. Tonight my Dad called me. It was loud in the background. It wasn’t cheering, this is Cleveland afterall, and they were at a baseball game. “My money pouch just broke,” my Dad reported. I think it broke opening and closing numerous times for the beer vendor maybe? Rock on, Mom and Dad! I told him to email me some dimensions and I would get right on it. My Dad has a terrible memory. I figured adding beer and a losing baseball game to that would make the chances of him remembering to measure the money pouch slim to none. I freely admit that I WAS WRONG. I got the following email from my Dad not an hour later. I love my Dad for all of his specific quirkiness.