My dad is the milkman...

it must be! Or the garbage man. Dustbinman? How do you call them? You know, those who hang at the back of a big truck, and pick up garbage? Nightman? Stupid translate page. Nightman? What's a dayman then? You know what I mean! Why am I saying this? Because I look nothing like him. He is a welder, and a good one. He has build Space Mountain in EuroDisney, Kitkat Oddessy at Fantasy Island, etc. He is super cool.

He ain't afraid of heights. I am. Terrible with heights. A stepladder is acceptable. But higher than that? NO! He walks around at heights without safety armour. He is super relaxed when it comes to that. He is such a handy man, unbelievable. The car he recently bought (A Renault something, but convertible) had engine problems. Without thinking he opened the bonnet, and looked for what the problem might have been. Didn't find it. Went to a proper garage, and they couldn't find it either. So that would have been a problem for others, not for him. He bought a new engine and fitted it himself! See? I can't even makes holes in a wall, without injuring my face! You want to know how I did that? I used a wooddrill instead of a ....erm.... harder drill. A wooddrill is used for wood. I know that now.

Maybe I am my fathers son, when it comes to humour. He has got the same level of funnyness. We both like stupid comedies. Like Alo Alo, with Renee! He likes that kind of humour. It's brilliant. We don't like the same music, but we can have a laugh when we listen to it. We do look alike. In a funny way. Not the hair tho. Thank God for that. I've got hair, he must have lost it somewhere along the way. I tried Google.com to look for his hair, but they say "page cannot be shown". Weird, eh?

We have not a lot in common, but I love the man. I do love him! Hope he doesn't read this, because he will say "where you on drugs when you typed it?" Or he might laugh like a dog with asthma. Or like a pig with swineflu. But God be damned, I laugh the same. Shit, bugger.

I can't imagine myself in my dads shoes. He has got more guts then I do. He is more than I am, a hard worker (him, not me). I work hard in a different way. I've got other ways to relax. His way of relaxing is building stuff at their home. He relaxes while doing stuff. I relax when I close my eyes on the sofa, and curl up like a baby. Or watch telly till my eyes fall out of my head. I am lazy. He ain't.

Dad, you are my hero. Without a doubt. Milkman or not, I don't care. My dad is super cool. I am proud to have you as my dad! I am not talking about the milkman, I am talking about my dad, Math. Voicewise we sound the same. One time, his company called their house, and I still lived there. I answered, and the receptionist started talking about flight information and bla bla bla. I wrote everything down, and at the end of the conversation I said to her "I'll give the information to my dad when he gets home". She was embarrassed, because she thought she was talking to him.

Here is a picture of my hero:

It ain't a sexy picture, he is married. To who? My mum! So ladies, back off. Or my mum will kill you. Serious. Ask Hayley. My mum is not to be messed with. My dad is taken. Sorry. Back off.

Dad, good luck in China. Kick ass, matey. And come back in one piece. Don't stay there too long, you might start eaten with chopstick. Don't do it matey. You are as dutch as a man can be. Just like me.