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If you'd told 17-year-old-me that in 2015, I’d be standing in Target, picking out a Father’s Day card or crying while dancing with my Dad at my wedding, I would've laughed in your face. Yet that’s precisely where I found myself this afternoon: staring at the remainders of a plundered Hallmark rack, seeking something that wasn't too saccharine or too silly or dismissive. And just a few weeks ago, on my wedding day, I danced with my father and both of us sobbed ugly tears. I laughed out loud in the store thinking about the absurdity of it all, given my life's history, earning a side-eye from a nearby shopper.
You could — if you’re into grossly minimizing euphemisms — refer to my childhood and adolescence as "...