Father’s day is my dad’s favorite holiday. He gets mad if me and my brother forget. Every father’s day my dad gets a lemon merange pie from my mom- she pretends to complain about making it because really it’s a winter pie- the merange sweats in the heat and there are pretty cherries at the farmer’s market. Me and my dad don’t care. We add more lemon juice when no one’s looking and everyone squints and winces when they eat it except us- we like things super sour. This is why we both like Nerds and Cabbage Patch Kids too- the really tart ones. Once when I was little there was this park near our house. My dad called it the daddy park because he would take me there and push me on these swings made out of tires. I always remember the smell of the rubber and the trees and the sky overhead, all spin-y and topsy-turvy. I wonder if this is where I learned to love gymnastics- moving with the wind and the clouds and laughing. And someone behind me who I couldn’t quite see but who was making me go.
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