Daddy’s Girl

Spending a couple of down minutes reading my timeline on Facebook, I ran across a post that a guy wrote about his relationship with his daughter. How when she was going through the alphabet and got to D, while other kids said dog and other obvious words, she said Daddy. She’s an adorable little girl, and he just gushes over her often, but this post made me think about my life with my father.

As a child we were the best of friends. Mommy could stay gone all day if she wanted but anywhere my Dad went I HAD to go, I was just supposed to, at least in my mind. (I know he’ll cringe if he reads this, but it’s all love) My first time ever seeing a bar was by my dad’s side, me sitting in the corner doing my homework, kicking my feet on the barstool, drinking a Shirley Temple. We would ride bikes, try to scare each other hiding in corners around the house, play cards (he never just let me win, I had to earn it) and just kick it.

Then one day I became a teenager. I remember the day he felt like I grew up, my mom bought me a pant suit (the kind that had a vest and you wear a turtle neck under it… yeah I’m almost 30) and he took out his violin, made himself a glass of Crown Royal and cried in the dark…. (Now do you see where I get my DRAMA?). It was around that time that he transitioned from being my friend to the professor, he was ZERO fun in those years, most of our time was spent with me being held lecture hostage in the passenger seat of the car. Thank God he loves cool cars, so I’d have some gadgets to play with while he talked me to bored dried up DEATH. I mean we would take the extra long way home, looping around blocks until he made his point at least twice.

During those years I would get so mad at him, and we would fall out like crazy. But as I got older and started living my own life I would hear him in my head right when I was in the middle of something that he covered in one of his lectures and I’d be mad at myself for remembering it and missing out on what looked like “the fun”. There are some things that he used to grill me about that I felt like were a bit extreme, but the point of it all was my father protected me. Yes he had a crazy work schedule as a firefighter and he missed out on a few outings, but he took the time to do what was going to help me out the most in the long run.

I said all of that to say this. Those early years set the foundation of how we’re able to be today. That’s my homie all over again like we were when I was little. I’ve got my own life now so I don’t follow him around, but we always find the time to just kick it. So, dads that think the only thing they have to do is have the gun ready for the nasty little boys, don’t forget to take the time out to be her friend first, that way when you lock her down for those lectures, she’ll actually listen, even though she’s squirming in the seat and rolling her eyes, she’ll remember when she needs it most.

Also, for the dads that just send money, kids eat every day so I won’t knock it, but more than the cash, she needs to know you as a person. Stories about your life and mistakes you’ve made will help her work smart in navigating her way through life. Also, you’d much prefer to give her the game than some little knucklehead boy that she befriends for that purpose.

Dads matter, and it’s easier the earlier you start. Kudos to my Dad first, and my Facebook friend, and all of the other fathers that make an effort to make sure that your daughters love and respect you. We don’t forget (even when we turn into evil teenagers) and it makes things so much better in the long run. Thanks!