Daddy loved sweet iced tea, lemonade and root beer. He
loved Mom’s from-scratch cornbread and her semi-homemade cherry pie. He loved
to travel and to tell us of all his adventures when he came home. He loved
serving the Lord and His church. And he loved me.
Daddy never hung up the phone without telling me he loved
me and even after I was a “grown woman,” he still answered my calls with either
“Hi, Princess” or “How’s my Baby Girl?”
But he didn’t love me with words only. He showed his love time and time again
through his thoughtful and kind actions. I remember the Christmas I was eight
and Santa brought me a huge, swanky Barbie Dreamhouse filled with furniture;
the only thing missing was a dining room hutch.
A couple of months later, Daddy came home from a business trip to Pennsylvania and nonchalantly presented me with the missing blue plastic cabinet. Even then I knew I had a special dad; he was a man who, while more than 700 miles from home, would search toy stores in a strange city until he found just what his daughter wanted, for the sole purpose of seeing the joy on her face when he gave it to her.
A couple of months later, Daddy came home from a business trip to Pennsylvania and nonchalantly presented me with the missing blue plastic cabinet. Even then I knew I had a special dad; he was a man who, while more than 700 miles from home, would search toy stores in a strange city until he found just what his daughter wanted, for the sole purpose of seeing the joy on her face when he gave it to her.
That wasn’t the first or last time Daddy did something
like that. There was the Christmas he and mom surprised me with a second-hand
French racing bike they had refurbished themselves. At my 16th birthday party,
Daddy played photographer, making sure he snapped photos of the boy I had a
crush on. For physics class, he helped me create a replica of one of his
company’s machines and thanks to his guidance and hands-on help, I earned a
perfect grade on the project. Besides all these things, when my sister and I
were teenagers, Dad spent countless hours with Mom shopping for our clothes and
never lost his patience. He repainted my bedroom furniture when I wanted a new
look, took me to softball try-outs, and moved me back and forth to college
several times each year.
Daddy was kind and patient and showed me his love in
countless ways. I never had to doubt the depth of his love for me. Even after
two years, I still miss Daddy tremendously. But I will never forget the lessons
of love and faith he imparted to me through his actions, his words, and his
example.
Sweet, God-fearing daddies are a blessing! Beautiful memoir, Christie!
ReplyDeleteThanks! They are indeed!
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