The other day, my dad was at my house waiting for Mike to put some tires on his truck. I had my back turned to him while at the sink doing dishes, Alexa playing music in the background.
“It won’t be like this for long” by Daius Rucker came on. I had played this song for Mike when Mason was a newborn, tears rolling down my cheeks, thinking of all of the things that will be the last firsts for my newest little one.
I told my dad that I liked this song and had him listen. As it played, it took on an entirely new meaning. I stood in the kitchen, no longer the mom with the newborn, but a daughter with her father.
I wondered if he remembered me as a baby or a little girl with my soft round face and auburn hair. I could picture myself as a gangly teenager in the tan center hall colonial I grew up in. I vividly remember the sunny day I picked up my wedding dress and passed him on the sidewalk of that very same house, finding out later that that moment had brought him to tears.
I stood across the solid wood counter from that man, older and grayer than before, his face worn and wrinkled from sun and cigarettes. A man I know would do anything for his daughter and tears fill my eyes. He gazes back and his eyes fill as well. I walk over to my father, sitting on a stool at my kitchen counter, bend over, put my arms around him and whisper, “I love you.”
The first man in my life, strong, steady, providing for his family, a man who taught me how to use a hammer and a saw, but also cried when he walked me down the aisle in my white, A-line, strapless wedding dress.
I know he has always had a soft spot in his heart for his tomboy, fiercely independent little girl. I, in turn, have a soft spot for my stubborn father I butt heads with while trying to put a garage door back on it tracks, or install a ship lap, pegged, wood floor or basically anything else we have done together, as I for sure know the right way to do it, as does he.
Dad- I love you. I am now a mom and have children of my own, but I’ll always be your little girl.
