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Holly McCamant: No matter what, he’s still just Dad

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Holly McCamant: No matter what, he’s still just Dad
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Normally I don’t like newspapers or magazines putting a lot of focus on holidays.

I guess I’m just not the type of person who likes reading about turkey bookends for Thanksgiving instead of interesting material.


However, I have to make an exception for Father’s Day.

Even though I’m not that interested in turkeys (I live in Frazee and have passed one too many turkey farms), I absolutely love my dad. So I’m making an exception and writing this for him.

I read a bunch of articles with titles like “How to Connect With Your Dad and Father – Daughter Relationships Are Important.” They all say stuff like “Watch sports sometime with your dad. It may be boring, but at least you can talk to him!” or “Girls that have good relationships with their dads are more likely to have stronger morals.”

I laugh when I see those articles because I’m thinking, the only time my dad watches sports on a regular basis is when the Broncos happen to be playing when he turns on the TV or when he’s taking a nap.

You see, I have the most amazing dad ever. He has a big heart (both ways; he’s a Colorado native), is incredibly intelligent, extremely interesting and doesn’t do anything halfway.

He’s done so much for me it’s hard to put in one article, but I’ll attempt it.

The first time I can remember him is how he always woke up on my schedule when I was a little kid. Telling me to stay in my room and be quiet till 7 a.m. was like asking my dog Aunnie to never kiss anyone, so somebody had to do it.

Thankfully, my dad was always willing to get up early to save my bedroom wall from being decorated with markers.

As I got to be around elementary age, I wasn’t exactly what you would call normal. I was a super inquisitive, high energy girl who didn’t really know how to act socially. My dad put up with me, even though my imagination was on steroids 24/7, and even though I didn’t know who I was.

I mean, I actually thought I would be a sprinter back then. I didn’t like long distance running. My dad, an avid distance runner, still put up with me and didn’t force me into anything. Look what he has now: a girl who is a distance runner and who can’t imagine being a sprinter.

When I finally decided that I did like distance running, he stuck with me, even though I was one of the most terribly slow junior high runners you could ever imagine in 7th grade cross country. I got better, and now I’m doing really well in running and thoroughly enjoy it.

Recently, though, my dad has helped me more than ever. He’s my running partner, nerdy geography discussion mate, the chief dog exerciser, my personal chef and editor (though he’s not reading this article until it’s in the paper). My dad is so interesting; I can never get bored talking to him.

You may or may not know my dad. His name is Thaddeus McCamant, and he’s the statewide fruit expert. He’s been to 19 different countries, was in Berlin right before the fall of the Berlin Wall, and was in Senegal for two years in the Peace Corp.

People may see him as an emergency hotline for strawberry problems, as a friend, or as the person who always goes into La Barista. It doesn’t matter to me because even though he is all of those labels, he’s still my dad.