Daddy’s Girl…Yes I Am!

 I’m a Daddy’s girl. Always have been. Always will be.

Don’t misunderstand. I love my Mom fiercely. She’s one of my dearest friends. But when it comes down to which parent did I turn out like, I’d have to say my Dad. And I’m sure it has a little to do with genetics. But also a whole lot to do with connection. The connection began when I was a little girl.

My earliest memory of my dad is of man dressed in a suit who left early and came home late, always carrying a briefcase. Those were the days when he sold insurance and worked all kinds of jobs in order to afford his Masters in Engineering and provide for our family. 

Growing up, when given a choice of chores, I always ran outdoors to help my dad weed the garden, wash the car, or hold the ladder when he worked on the roof.

We also have a lot in common. We both misplace things. Forget things. And we are both emotional. I’d like to say we’re in touch with our feelings, but when it comes down to it, we are the criers in the family. We are also known as the talkers. As far back as I can remember, Daddy loved telling us stories. Continue reading