Sarah Steinberg let me repost this piece from Vice mag.
Just the perfect sentiment for Father's Day, kiddos.

DADDY'S GIRL

Just because my dad was never around because he was a drug-addled loser doesn't mean that he didn't teach me a couple of things. My dad (or "Dave" as he had me call him) taught me that jeans were made for wiping your dirty hands, that the word "toilet" should be pronounced like "troy-let" and how to play Ms. Pac-Man for at least half an hour on one quarter. I was thinking about calling him up to ask him a few questions about his life but then I realized that I didn't have his number. So I called my mom instead.

VICE: So it's Father's Day this weekend.

My mom: I guess so.

Have you talked to David lately?

Who's David?

My father.

Oh, David. No. Have you?

No. I didn't think he had a phone.

I don't know that he does.

Well, look. I had a question about him that I wanted to ask you. I was thinking about how when people do a lot of drugs how they usually sit around with the people they're doing the drugs with and talk about the big ideas they have and the big things they're going to do.

Yeah.

So I'm just wondering, what do you think he talked about when he was getting high? What were the things he was gonna do?

I don't recall David ever talking about things he was going to do.

Oh. But I mean, what were his goals?

I have no idea that he ever had any goals.

No goals?

No.

Well what did he enjoy doing?

He played pool. And he went to the horses. And he's like a master whaddayacallit when you can pick the right number combinations to win big money?

I dunno, but he couldn't have been very good at that because otherwise he might have had a pot to piss in, right?

Well it's interesting. He told me that the first time he went to the races--he was a cashier at a deli at the time--he won something like $35,000. And it so scarred him, because when you start out winning like that, for the rest of your life you're going to give it back. And that's exactly what he did. He just kept giving it back. By that stage in his life he was already headed down. He'd already left behind a bad marriage.

What are you talking about? Who was he married to?

I've told you this before. To a woman in Sweden.

Wait . . .

But they were divorced. He led me to understand that it was a marriage of convenience.

So that she could live in the States?

No, the other way around. So that he could stay in Sweden.

He was living in Sweden?

He was eventually deported. Or repatriated.

Because he was broke? Is that some kind of capital offense in Sweden?

Oh no, not at all! It's just that the US doesn't like having to pay to bring their people home--

But why was he deported in the first place?

I have no idea, you'd have to ask him.

But how did he get to Sweden?

You'd have to ask him. Me, I never got answers.

So could I have brothers or sisters?

Sarah, I have no idea.

Yeah. OK. Well, happy Father's Day.

All right dear. You too.

-SARAH STEINBERG

NOTES FOR SPEECH UPON ACCEPTANCE OF BRONZE MEDAL IN THE 2010 EMOTIONAL OLYMPICS
by Sarah Steinberg

Wow! I’m floored! Wow! (Pat pockets of jeans as if you do not have a prepared speech. Act surprised when you find speech.)

I’d like to take you back to 2008, when I found out that there were actually prizes for doing stuff I’ve been doing naturally for years. I could hardly believe it. I never thought I’d have the good fortune to stand here, a chocolate bronze medal in one hand and an imaginary cheque for $100 in the other. I feel so proud and just a little bit smug! Is my track suit swishing? Can you hear it swish as I rub my upper arm against my torso? Swish-swish-swish! That’s the sound of defeat! (Ask everyone to calm down here as they go wild with applause).

All I want to say to the fans is Go Team Me! I couldn’t have done it without me! Am I right? (Hold for applause). But I really can’t thank you all enough. The judges, my mother and father for their unrelenting judgement, and my team of therapists. Especially you Ellen, because thank you so much for changing your number and getting the court order like that. You taught me a great lesson about friendship. And boundaries. And the legal system.

I’ll admit, when you moved, I was hurt. But if it wasn’t for your flat-out refusal to see or hear from me I don’t think I would have been able to elevate my martyrdom syndrome to pro levels, or, for that matter, truly complete my training in the Hold-A-Grudge or the 500 Hope Dash. It was this training that ultimately led me to victory in the Obsessing Over Things That Happened A Long Time Ago category and the reason why I’m here today! Oh, I will never forget this moment! (Ask someone to get a shot of self holding medal up above my head before hand sweat melts it).

It was a lot of hard work, guys, I’m not going to lie. It takes years and years of practice, of diligence, of late nights going over what you should have said instead of what you did say. And if you’re serious about training, I want you to first ask yourself this: Can you simultaneously imagine yourself as Sisyphus rolling that dumb boulder up the mountain, and as Sisyphus’s mom yelling at the idiot for never learning, plus his disappointed Dad and long-suffering girlfriend? And can you empathize with the boulder too? Imagine yourself in the boulder’s shoes. You must. But if you can not, use that inability as inspiration. Do you see how this works?

They say it’s something you’re born with, but I firmly believe that with enough time, effort, and a dedicated team of friends and strangers alike, you can brutally flagellate yourself to the top and all the way back down again. As for the future, I plan to use my failure to win first prize as my impetus to stay alive for the next 4 years so I can win in 2013. I’ll be signing my own personal range of OCD soaps in the foyer for the next half hour. Please, feel free to stop by. (Bow?)

*

Author of We Could Be Like That Couple... (Insomniac, 2008), former Vice editor, freestyle blogger and pan-city wit Sarah Steinberg hates winter. So she got a poodle to fuzz up against.