I realize that this comes a few days after Fathers Day, but oh well. I want to pay tribute to my amazing dad, Gary Irvin Johnson. (Irvin was his father's name, yikes). I love my dad more than I can truly express. He and I have a very special bond, sometimes I think it's because I was the first kid in my family to express interest in playing a sport. In 3rd grade I told my mom I wanted to play softball, not because I thought it would be fun, but because my best friend, Nicki Peters played. We normally only got to see each other on Sundays at church (go 11th ward!) so I thought we would end up on the same team. Wrong. We didn't, I was sad, but I was hooked on softball. I remember how excited my dad was and how we would play catch in the front yard. He taught me to throw, slide, bat, everything. I owe the amazing gun, also known as my right arm to my dad.
He was in the Navy when I was growing up and wasn't able to make it to many of my games, but if he was in town and off work, he would be there. I missed him so much when he was gone, but he did his best to make up for it when he came back.
My dad is fascinating to me, I love going home and talking to him. We're not big phone talkers, but kitchen or backyard, it's guaranteed to be a long, good talk. He is so knowledgeable about the gospel, sports and all sorts or weird stuff. I feel like every time we talk, I learn something new.
My dad and I have a handshake that none of the other kids have. I don't remember how or when we came up with it, but I treasure it. He calls me "Sally", "Sally Sue", "Peg" and "Peggy Sue". I love it! (those nicknames will be explained in another blog post, I'm sure). When I go home to visit we always watch crazy stuff on the History Channel and Discovery. His recent addiction is "Gangland" on the History Channel.
My dad is amazing, I am the luckiest girl alive. I owe my success, my morals, my intelligence and my independence to him. Thank you dada, I love you!