I’ve been writing this post in my head since Mother’s Day. I only planned my Mother’s Day post in a day or two and most of it was written on the spot. My dad is so laid-back, that even though I have always been a total “Daddy’s girl” and I completely adore him, I wasn’t sure I could put anything into words. After weeks of planning, I’m still not sure I can.
What I learned from my Daddy:
People are not good or bad because of the color of their skin or how much money they have. You judge a person by their actions, not by what they look like.
Don’t sweat the small stuff, and it’s all small stuff. My dad is the most laid-back person I know. I’ve never seen him mad. He has his convictions, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t get mad about stuff. I wish I could master that.
Real dads don’t stop loving their kids even if they disappoint you or made decisions you don’t agree with. Oh, he’s never told me I’ve disappointed him. He’s never even acted like it. But I bet I have. But I still know that he’s always there when I need him, no questions asked.
Dads take care of their families. My dad has always been such a hard worker. He’s worked nights for most of my life, because when you have a family to feed, you work when you can. Or you can complain about not being able to get a job, when sometimes what you really mean is that you can’t find a job you’re willing to do. Daddy never did that. He worked hard and he came home tired, but he always got up and went back the next day.
How to fix stuff. Or get a big hammer if said stuff isn’t cooperating. We fixed stuff and built stuff and I even had my own toolbox and tools. Somewhere along the way, I became the assembler in the house. I put together at least one push-mower, and a variety of other items that I can’t really remember. Now that I’m grown and have my own family, I’m still the assembler. It’s fun. Most of the time.
If you’re doing your best, that’s all you can do. Don’t compare yourself with others or let someone put you down. In school, I made mostly As & Bs. Once I brought home a C in Science. I was in 4th grade, I think. My parents were proud of my grades, but they never put pressure on me. I was so worried when I brought home that report card. Daddy just asked me if I had done my best. Honestly, I don’t even remember if the answer was “yes” or “no”. All I remember is that as long as I was doing my best, nothing else mattered.
Even Superman has a weakness. I have adored my Daddy since before I can remember. Mama tells a story about me running to the front door when it was time for him to come home from work – way before I could read a clock. I love my Mama, but I’m a “Daddy’s girl”. When I was in my early twenties, my parents had a motorcycle wreck. They were going pretty slowly, preparing to make a turn, and they were both wearing helmets, but they had been taken to the hospital and needed me to come pick them up. It was upsetting to see them wheel Mama out with her leg in a brace, but when Daddy walked in with his arm in a sling, I started bawling. Not because I love Mama any less, but because Daddy’s aren’t supposed to get hurt. He was my Superman. Then a year and a half ago, he was diagnosed with colon cancer and I had another Superman moment. Daddy went through surgery and chemo and radiation and was declared cancer-free, only to find out a few days later that he had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. So he did it again (well, not the surgery). He’s cancer-free now, but even through all that crap, he was still my Superman.
I love you, Daddy. Happy Father’s Day.