Wednesday, August 31, 2011


There's a reason why, as grown women, my sister and I still call our father "Daddy."

It's not because we have princess syndrome, or because we're trust fund babies, or because we've been mentally diagnosed to act forever six years old. (For the record, we are officially none of those things.)

Having not cleared this with Kim, I won't speak for both of us. But we did grow up hearing both of our (equally adult-functioning, non-trust fund) parents call their fathers "daddy." I didn't know either of my biological grandfathers, but from the measure of love and respect I saw that my parents had for both of them, I learned the term "daddy" to mean one of great endearment.

So when I reached the age where some of my friends (mainly guys) started referring to their dads as, well, "dad," it never seemed natural for me. And it still doesn't.

To me, the term "daddy" means kindness, integrity, fun, a great sense of humor, willingness to work hard, not being afraid of learning something new, and a sincere respect for God, country, and fellow man.

My daddy has never, in my 3+ decades, not shown any of those qualities. Because of that, I have a pretty high standard for not only who a father should be, but also what a man should be.

Also because of that, on his birthday, I thank him from the bottom of my heart for teaching me life's fundamentals. Especially by example.

I wouldn't trade one junior high utterance of "daddy" for the role model he's been to Kim and me.

Happy birthday, Daddy.

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