And She Writes too

At night when it was time for me to get ready for bed, my daddy would pick me up so I could reach the top drawer of his dresser and pick out one of his t-shirts. My dad's t-shirts were my pajama's, I loved the way they fit me and how they felt. I loved that my dad's t-shirts were big enough for me to draw my knees up to my chest and cover them. My dad's t-shirts were often just plain white undershirts but sometimes his shirts had grease stains on them, or paint smeared on them. And sometimes his t-shirts had images of humor on them but what I loved most about them was that they smelled like my dad.

My dad wasn't perfect; he wasn't a wealthy man or a college educated man. He worked many jobs and was fired from just as many. My dad had habits that I didn't like; he smoked, he cursed like a sailor, he was a male chauvinist and he was selfish. Growing up I was scared of my dad; scared of his anger, scared of his hands and scared of disappointing him. My dad was a strong disciplinarian and often ran our home like a boot camp. However, my dad wore his heart on his sleeve. My dad on the outside looked like big grizzly bear but was soft and cuddly like a teddy bear.

For me, my dad was everything I needed him to be. My dad taught me the value of a dollar by showing me that wealth was not as important as love. My dad taught me that education is what helps a person succeed. I learned from my dad that cursing in anger doesn't always produce the results that you want. My dad taught me that bad habits are hard to stop but easy to never start. My dad taught me that it is okay to be scared as long as we don't let fear rule our lives. However, most importantly my dad taught me how to love unconditionally.

As a little girl, my dad was invincible. He was my hero but never saved anyone's life, never fought in a war, he never fought a fire or even rescued a cat from high in a tree. Nonetheless, my dad was someone as big as the Hulk, as strong as Superman and as invincible and Batman. The little girl in me thought my dad could do anything, could be anything and would live forever.

When I got married, and my dad walked me down the isle, I whispered to him that I would always be his little girl. At forty-one years old, sixteen years after my dad gave me away, I was still his little girl. I would still crawl in his lap, give him a kiss on the cheek and embrace his bear hugs. Being with my dad brought out my vulnerability and my insecurities but at the same time he reminded me of my strength.

Today, a year and half after my dad's death, I would give anything to crawl in my dad's lap, give him a kiss one last time, and feel his big arms around me. Today, I would love to tell my dad just how important he is to me. Today, I would give anything for just one more private moment with my dad, one more long conversation, one more chance to say love you Pop. Today, I wear his t-shirt to bed and draw my knees to my chest as tears fall from my face.