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{Me in my Wonderbread bathing suit + my dad in the maroon shorts he spent most of my childhood in. He probably still has them, unless my mom “accidentally” threw them away. Maybe that’s where I get my OCD wardrobe choices from…}

Happy Father’s Day to all you daddies out there, especially mine. My Dad, Murry (or MurMan, as Tony likes to call him), is the best. If you don’t believe me, read about him here. He was born to be a dad, and I’m especially lucky that he was so spectacular at being a father to a daughter. I’ve talked before about his ability to braid hair, all the times he sat in the football stands when I was cheerleading captain in high school to hold up a “D” or “O” sign for me so I’d know which cheers to call, since I couldn’t be bothered to learn the rules of football. How he and my mom drove to L.A. nearly every weekend for 6 months to see me perform in the Groundlings Sunday Company. And now, he reads my blog every day and emails me to tell me he loved it and he’s proud of me.

But what has moved me the most about this past year and a half is how involved my dad has been in the planning of Tony and my wedding. You always hear about how wedding planning bonds a mother and a daughter, but no one told me how much closer it would bring me to my dad. I want to be clear about this: My dad could care less about weddings. As long as there is chardonnay and cake, he’s a happy man. But, as he has with every single one of my hair-brained schemes, obsessions, passions or career goals, he has not only supported my obsession with weddings, but jumped on board to help make mine happen.

He spent a full day in San Francisco watching me try on dresses; even though he said “Oh! Lovely!” every time I walked out and took naps while I was changing, he was there, pretending there was no where else he’d rather be. (He’d rather have been golfing. He would always rather be golfing.) He helped stuff every single wedding welcome bag (and drove to two different Costcos to collect all of the very specific items I wanted to go in them). He studied and weighed in on every detail of our invitation design, even though he’s color blind. And the other day, I was stressing about one ridiculous thing or another, and he tried to shake me out of it by suggesting “Let’s talk flowers! What’s hot these days? The peonies?” My dad knows nothing about flowers. He just listens when I talk and remembers what is important to me, no matter how small or silly it is, and what greater gift can a parent give a child than that?

Father of the Bride has always been one of my favorite movies, but the real life experience has been so much better than the film. My dad hasn’t gone to jail over hot dog buns (yet), but he has signed up for dance lessons to prepare for the Father Daughter Dance, and suggested the song be Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping” because it reminds him of driving me to junior high school. He listened to me sob on the phone for two hours when our wedding photographer quit a few weeks ago, and spent hours more helping me research new ones. He’s offered to bake treats for the guests to have when they arrive. He tried really, really hard to find a legal loophole to put on a private fireworks show in Lake Tahoe on August 1. Lately, as we approach the wedding and my crazy levels are spiking off the charts, he always gently asks, “How’s Tony? Don’t forget to tell him you love him,” and just hearing that reminds me to calm down and remember what the day is really all about.

I love you so much, Dad. Thank you for supporting me and being my partner in crime on whatever crazy dream I set my heart on. I am the luckiest.