"As a kid, I somehow ended up in possession of a baseball player bobble figurine. If you flicked him, he bobbled around on a spring, much to the delight of… no one? He sat on my dresser for a couple of years, receiving very little attention, until, one day, I decided to give him a flick. He broke instantly. The ballplayer came dislodged from the spring and the spring disappeared into the ether. This wasn’t of major concern to me, seeing as how I had very little interest in baseball players or bobble figurines in general. The next morning, I was surprised to find him, reassembled, sitting atop my dresser. Turns out, my father fixed him. Or at least, he tried. Dad fashioned some kind of makeshift spring out of a paperclip. The only problem - now, when you flicked him, he did not bobble. He remained perfectly still.To reiterate: the bobble functionality was the SOLE purpose of this incredibly stupid toy. And flicking it no longer produced the desired result. So why was it still in my life? Why? Because my dad thought it meant something to me. I don’t know why this gesture resonated with me. But 30 years later, the baseball player bobble figurine is still on top of my dresser. My dad was a complicated guy. He could be the most gregarious, uber-demonstrative sack of smiles you’ve ever met. Other times… cranky. He could be cranky. But holy crap if I didn’t realize how much that man loved me. He used to tell me, “Seany, I don’t think I’ve ever missed a day telling you, ‘I love you.’” He missed very few."
