blown glass, hand blown glassLast time I was back home while putting my luggage down in the guest room my dad said, “Check this out.” It was a red blown glass vase with some river rock inside of it. I responded with a nod of the head and cool. He said, “No I made this in a hand blown glass class.” That took me by surprise. My dad has always liked art but I never looked at him as an artist. From the looks of the tall rectangle vase, he wasn’t that bad. I went over to grab it and he got all concerned trying to usher me away from the blown glass. What, do you think I’m going to drop it, I thought. He was pretty proud of this vase; it must have been his final project or something.

Just to mess with him, I started lunging for the vase. He gave me one of those warning stares but I couldn’t stop smiling. When he left the room, I started yelling out things like, “This blown glass is slippery, wwaaawoooow.” A couple little quips like this and he came running back up and really killed the mood by saying, “touch that vase and you can’t use my car.” That shut me up.  Never would have thought dad was an artist, a stern one at that.