My dad is Chuck Norris.
Ok, no, not really. He’s not actually Carlos Ray Norris, but he is the no nonsense, crazy-strong character he plays. My dad is physically the strongest guy I’ve ever known – bench pressing humans (children, and I do mean children plural – we’re talking multiple children at one time) and performing clap pushups from dawn to dusk. (If you don’t know what clap pushups are, just picture trying to do a pushup where you remove your hands from underneath your body to clap them in between the up and down motion. You just dropped to the ground and tried it, didn’t you? Go retrieve a bag of frozen peas from the fridge to ice your sternum. I’ll wait.) These pushups are exhausting and virtually impossible to normal humans. My dad made them look as easy as riding a pink Huffy with training wheels.
So, let’s get down to business. The reason I’m going on about my father is that today happens to be his 70th birthday. 70 damn years. Wow, that feels like a lot of years to a 30-year-old. Impressive. Even more impressive is that for the past two and a half of those years he has been fighting a type of brain cancer (and winning – duh, he’s Chuck Norris). While it’s been a wild roller coaster ride leading up to this point, today, he is healthy as a horse. He carries his latest cancer-free MRI results folded in his pocket like an Olympian wears his medal around his neck. As he should. It’s no small feat to stare cancer – brain cancer, the cancer of all cancers – in the face and knock it out with a one-two punch. Or was it a jab, hook, uppercut? You get the idea. He socked it.
Anyway, this blog post is dedicated to my dad. I love you, Chuck Norris. Happy damn birthday, old man. Keep on kickin’ butt and clapping in the middle of your pushups. You’re badass. Even at 70.