I was a daddy’s girl growing up. I thought my father could do just about everything. I still do. 😊
When I was 4, my dad’s head was as big as the world! I rode on his shoulders, clasping his forehead with my tiny hands and laughing as we ran through the grass.
Together we were taller than God.
My dad held my red Schwinn bike as I balanced my first solo trip, and ran alongside before letting me go to pedal into a new world.
I remember whisker rubs and “serious talks” and standing on his feet to dance around the kitchen.
He tied my ice skates double-tight, and there was always love- large and raw and imperfect.
When I prowl through all the prayers in my heart, and in certain photographs in a special kind of light, I can see my dad’s face inside my own, saying “Stick with me kid!”
He’s been such a wonderful grandpa for my son and the biggest positive male role model in his life. I am so grateful for that. A few month ago my son half-jokingly asked me why I didn’t pick someone better to be his father. even though he was joking, it struck a nerve with me. For years I felt guilty about that. But guilt gets you nowhere. Or at least no where good. Like so many things in life, you’ve got to learn to let that stuff go or it’s going to ruin your life. So I did. I let it go.
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