Today I thought I would post in honor of my dad. Fathers and daughters have a very special bond, and I count myself one of those lucky few who considers her father one of her closest friends.
The father-daughter bond starts to form in the early moments of a daughter’s life when she realizes–even in her most colicky moments–that she is being held by a person she can trust. Here is a person who will love her when she screams like a banshee and smells like baby poop.
It continues to grow as he teaches her things like sharing and how to ride a bike and why boys never call when they say they will and the meaning of life (that’s a tough one, but he always makes the answer seem so easy).
And the bond tightens with each winter he takes her sledding and each summer he shows her how to ride the waves.
It blossoms more as he shows her how to care for animals and how to appreciate nature (Dad always knows the best rocks under which to find the salamanders).
And Dad always loves her no matter what. Their bond doesn’t buckle from the pressure of her first dates with boys he doesn’t wholly approve of or from driving lessons where she nearly drives his car into a pole.
He stands beside her after graduations. He sits patiently through countless recitals (many of which involve the recorder, which isn’t even a real instrument). He wipes away her tears after break-ups and gives her hope that all men aren’t awful. He carries her over-abundant things during move after move (each one, he swears, will be the last he helps with). He tells her she’s beautiful even when she feels ugly. He listens to her fears and doubts and tells her to be positive and strong because he believes in her, and she should believe in herself, too.
And for that she is eternally grateful.