My Daddy, Emma, and I went out to eat... Just us...It was something really nice that we don't do often enough. As I sat across the table from him I began to think of all that he is...
My Daddy has always been my hero and someone that I look up to. He is everything good and honest. He is what I sought out when I was looking for a husband (which I found, or to be exact, he found me).
My Daddy is the man who taught me to drive, who tossed me in the air and caught me as a little girl. He is the man that I have always tried not to disappoint; he is the man who helped me with my math homework, the one who helped me sort through job options. He is the man that took me fishing where we ate powdered doughnuts and drank orange juice for breakfast and ate Beanie Weanies for lunch.
He is the man who taught me how to drive a motorcycle and didn't get angry with me when I wrecked it. He is the man who didn't (doesn't) like cats, but always let me have at least one. He is the man who let me 'fix' his hair by putting a hundred barrettes in it. And, he is also the man who always told me that I looked pretty even though my outfits didn't match or make sense. He is the man that sat through every dance recital, pageant, musical, and ball game that I cheered at, no matter how terrible the weather.
He is the man that taught me hard lessons and made me cry, but secretly I was, and still am, glad he taught me. He is the man that has given up so much so that I could 'have it all.' He is the man that let me 'help' him build his airplane by playing "The Birthday Song (Never Be One Again)" by Alabama over and over and over again on my Cabbage Patch Tape Player.
He is the sound of an airplane early on a summer morning. He is the smell of defoliant on a foggy autumn night. He is the voice of reason in the midst of confusion. He is the tickle of a mustache when he kisses my cheek. He is a radiant glow when he sees me or Emma. He is Pop.
He is the person who knows how to fix anything and everything. He is an e-bayer and a you-tuber. He is the pusher of the swing. He is the man that is up early every morning and goes to bed early at night. He is the reason (well, actually, only a small part of the reason) I don't eat ketchup.
He is an old, white, country church on the third Sunday of every May that reminds me of where I came from. He is the teller of "Blue Beard" stories; and he is the man that jumped through an open window with a Halloween mask on and scared me to death!
He is the man that taught me how to ride a horse and he is also the one who rescued my when my horse ran away with me. He is the man I talked to on the phone for hours when he fell and got hurt. He is a yellow air- tractor in the sky. He is a human GPS.
He is laughter over a dirty diaper incident and the planter of trees and gardens. He is the man with a twinkle in his eye and skin like leather from working hard so many days in the sun. He is the man who sang to me "Raindrops keep falling on my head... That doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red..." while we sat on the picnic table in our yard one summer day. He is the man that taught me to love music from eras that were before my time.
He is everything simple and unique. He is everything crafty, yet perfected. He is a million more memories that I never want to forget...
He is my Daddy...
