“Daddy! Look at meeeeeee!!!” I screamed as I bounded off of the heap of straw. 

“Dad! This is so cool. Watch.”  I pronounced as I showed my dad something new I learned at school.

“Dad, how do I do this?”

“Dad! Listen to this!”

“Oh my gosh Dad! You’ll never believe this…”

These proclaimations are the story of my life. 

My dad has been present for every milestone and then some.

When I was a young girl, I remember being my dad’s helper. I helped him install new windows and a front door in my family’s home. I still look at those and think “we did that.” 

My dad went to every single one of the high school football games when I was in marching band. Even if he had to leave after the half to get ready for work the next day. I could always see him cheering for me, saying “I’m with the band.”

It’s because of my dad that I can write today. When I was eight, it was my dad that helped me navigate cursive writing. This started me on a road to writing that brought me here. Doing this as a career, as a life’s passion.

My dad has helped me with nearly every single project I’ve conjured up on my home. He’s come to my rescue with tools in hand, ready to fix, alter, or just do. 

When I got married, I cared less about my dress (that coincidentally he picked out) than about the fact I WOULD have my dad walk me down the aisle! Location, date, time, none of that mattered. I was going to have my dad walk me. Then when he did, I felt my eyes sting when he told me he wouldn’t let me trip and it was just us. 

We danced at my wedding to our song and even now, it’s his ringtone.  My dad looked so handsome and I was never so excited to be the center of attention. My dad made it okay and I was comfortable being stared at. 

Today, he is enjoying retirement. He has worked hard his entire life. Relaxation looks good on him.

I’d say I’m proud of my dad, but I think that’s a tremendous understatement. 

When I look up the word “dad”, I see: “superman.”

My dad can, and always has, done it all and been it all. 

“They” say I look like my mom, and in many ways, I do. However, I am also so much of my dad. 

I have the same eyes, nose, ears, personality traits, penchant for loud classic rock, and quiet observant nature. My dad sees more than he says and knows everything. My dad is far too humble to say it, but he’s a genius. He knows everything. Or, at least I think so. To me he does. 

I enjoy days spent with my him. He has an easy way about him that makes everything enjoyable. And I’d say I’m lucky. 

I’m lucky to have a dad that has seen every single one of my band concerts, helped me with homework, made me his helper, protected me, laughed with me, and had shown me the way.

My dad is superman. And I know that I am incredibly biased. But anyone that meets my dad knows that he is a cut above. And quite frankly, if they can’t see that, they need an optic transplant. 

It’s Father’s Day weekend, and my husband and I are planning a small barbecue for our dads. 

And at some point I know I’ll say, “hey dad!” And he will say, “what’s up kiddo?”

Because that’s what we do. It’s who we are. 

I’m the kiddo. 

And he’s my daddy. 


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