Daddy's Girl

I recently wrote a letter about my mother and today, it's time for me to write one about my dad.

My mother has been the one to stay home with us (the kids) but that doesn't mean that my dad hasn't been around. One of my favorite memories is of my ballet recitals. Not so much of the recitals themselves (they were fun though) but of what always happened afterward. After every dance recital, my dad would have a bouquet of flowers for me. Even when he couldn't make it himself, he always made sure that they'd be waiting for me, either with my mom or at home. That was something I could always count on: a bouquet of flowers followed by a big hug. It wasn't even the flowers that I loved (although they were always gorgeous and smelled fantastic) but what they meant. They meant that my dad appreciated and supported me in what I did.

One of my earliest memories is of my dad teaching me how to garden. I'm not sure which house it was at but I remember kneeling down in the dirt and having him show me how to push my finger into the dirt to make a little hole to put the seed in. I remember him teaching me about earthworms and how they're good for gardens, how snails aren't, and what I should and shouldn't pull up when I weeding. I remember him explaining all sorts of things about the garden to me and telling me that the dirt on my hands was okay and even necessary. I remember him teaching me.

I have some pretty silly memories, too. Memories like riding around on my dad's shoe while he walked around, getting him to play a monster, or having him help me make (and later clean up) couch cushion forts. He even has a whole repertoire of elephant jokes.

We have a long-standing tradition that Saturday mornings usually meant pancakes or waffles and watching This Old House. We did the kid's projects at Home Depot and Lowe's and we drove my fourth-grade teacher crazy because Dad would teach me something about my math homework that the class wouldn't get to for another week.

When I got older, he made sure I knew how to run and MacGyver electronics (one of his specialties) and started having me help on car projects so I that even if I never really understood all of the mechanics, I at least could change the oil and not be taken by someone dishonest. Thanks to my dad, I know that "wobbling pin bushings" are not something that exist in a car engine and I know how to change a tire. (Loosen the bolts before you lift the tire up, otherwise it just spins around like a pinwheel)

And the point to all of this? The point is that I have a great dad and that without both of my parents, I would not have been able to progress as far as I have. I wouldn't have my strange sense of humor (or my sense of direction) and I wouldn't have had as many opportunities to learn. So thank you, Dad. Thanks for teaching me, even when I protested about having to look at the transmission again. Thanks for being around, for giving me hugs, and for making sure that I know you love me. I've been so blessed in both my parents and even though we've had our differences, I know that I can count on them. Thank you, Dad, for all of the sacrifices you've made and all the work that you've put into being a father.

Love,
Elicia