Katie and the Boys

Growing up, I would torture my father by waiting to tell him about my book reports until the night before. I did this on purpose, as I knew his creative juices flowed under pressure. Every book report was some sort of collaboration with my dad and my favorite was my project for "The Chocolate Touch."

I think I was in 3rd grade, and it was late (meaning 9 PM in my young little brain).

Sauntering up to dad, "Dad.......I have a book report."

Dad, "When."

"Tomorrow."

"Why didn't you tell me?!?!" "I must've forgot. Sorry dad."

We sat down at the kitchen table and started thinking. Then brilliance struck my dad.

We went to Kohlers (the hip place to be in Alpine/Highland area), and proceeded to buy everything chocolate. Chocolate syrup, ice cream, cookies, wafers, you name it, we had it. And plastic spoons.

The next day at school I got up to give my report.
I stood in front of the class and started talking about the book as I poured ice cream, fudge, chocolate syrup, and crumpled cookies into a huge bowl. I took a spoon and swirled together my big chocolate mess.

I then walked through the class and gave everyone a spoonful of my yummy chocolate goo.

I got an A.

My dad is good at stuff like that. In 7th grade, we built a Greek temple out of marshmallows. And then we brought it home, poured gasoline on it and lit it on fire.

He calls me almost every day, just to say hi. And I love it.

Love you dad. Happy Birthday.