Yes, it’s me, Kris Kirstofferson! :)

This is so sweet, and it reminds me of something my dad used to do. When he would play guitar in the evenings, I would take out his song books and copy notes from them to “write songs.” Then I would bring them to him and he would play them. As it turns out, I was a wonderful song writer. Did you know I wrote Me and…

I bought cigarettes for my parents in the ‘70s and ‘80s. There was no problem. Heck, we still had vending machines all over the place for them then, too.

When I was 5, we moved from a house with a fireplace to a house without one. I was so worried about how Santa would get into the house that I made sure my parents put a key in the mailbox for him.

Nah. Depending on where you lived, stores could be really permissive about cigarettes. I’m 36 and remember going into the store to buy cigarettes for my mom when I was about 10. Everyone knew I was her daughter so no biggie.

That your grown up career will be the one you want/are good at.

that is absolutely fucking appalling, i’m so sorry they did that to you.

Please accept my apologies in advance for saying this.

The American Criminal Justice System is fair.

I cannot stop laughing at this. Brilliant

When I was in junior high and high school, I took to writing poetry. A lot of it. When I was done with a poem I would show it to my dad and he would exclaim over how good it was and would discuss it with me as long as I wanted to talk about it, then put a copy in the safe in my parents’ bedroom. I seriously fancied…

He’s definitely an old soul and a quick witted fibber. If I had a dollar for everytime I was thoroughly convinced our car was being towed...

(I have never attempted to post before so I have no idea if this will even show up, but my story is so exceptional that I have to share).

Haha this was someone else’s, too. Oh, dads. There must be a handbook somewhere.

Your husband was such a dad as a kid.

Corollaries I believed:

My dad convinced me and my sisters that “Resident” was a small, hairy person that lived under our house, which was built on a raised foundation. We put all our junk mail on the ground by the foundation’s vent hole, and would get so excited when it was gone next time we checked. “Resident came!”

The illusion of American Exceptionalism

Not me but relevant.

When i was about high-school aged, my Dad used to have McDonald’s serving trays in our house and would use them for breakfast in bed , etc. I asked my Dad how he got them and he would say, “It was tray day at McDonald’s!”