Dad and me at the Eagle and Child in Oxford, England! (2014)
It’s my dad’s birthday today, yay!
Since I’m away from home and didn’t get a proper gift (whoops), I thought I’d dig into my old blog archives and see if I could find a post I wrote in March 2005. My dad’s love language is words of affirmation, and I remember him sharing this to Literally Everyone after I posted it the first time.
I was fourteen years old when I wrote this, so it’s pretty sappy and dad-worship-y. (Disclaimer: My dad isn’t perfect, surprise! Though he’s still pretty cool.) But I still think it’s neat (and telling) that a fourteen year old girl meant everything written below with all of the intensity that only a fourteen year old girl can feel.
I originally wrote this after my dad talked to me about a possible upcoming deployment. While he didn’t end up being deployed this time, his desire to go serve where a need is great has always been something I’ve admired.
Happy birthday, Dad! Love you.
March 25, 2005
I love my dad.
My dad is special. He is my model man and the image of what I want to be like. My dad is special. He is willing to sacrifice his life for me and my family. My dad is the most loving, wonderful person in my life, and I want everyone to know it.
My dad has only yelled three times in my memory, only two of which are clear to recall. When my dad says he’s going to pray for you, you know he is. He has a long list of people he names every night when we pray together. Some of the people thereon have been there for years.
When I was little, he would read to me and my siblings every night. Through him I learned about C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, The Sword in the Stone, and other wonderful tales. He would read as much as he could before beginning to drag, where then he would hurry to the next break, close the book and smile at my pleas for more. Even when he was working five jobs at once, often staying up to the early hours of the morning and leaving long before I had risen for breakfast, he somehow managed to read to me. It was rare that he would skip a night, and often only Mom’s prodding could make him do that. I used to keep count of the days we missed so that when a weekend came we could go outside, sitting with the dogs while he caught up.My dad always had a story, joke, or insight ready and waiting. He would stay up for hours explaining to me why he thought this, or debating the Civil War, or telling me about such and such event that happened today, or such and such person he talked with. He has three large wrinkles on the corners of his eyes, accompanied by smaller ones. When he smiles, you can see his eyes crinkle. I used to watch him when I was in the back seat on the way to church, so I could see what he thought was funny.
My dad loves me. He was always there to talk to me about things, and I could always talk to him. Most of the time our talks are long and serious, though we could always switch gears easily and joke for a few minutes. I found I could always talk to him about anything, that I could go to him on any subject. He expressed to me a wish that I should always know that my parents are there for me, and I have tried my best to keep that in mind.
My dad is my hero. He has saved and defended my life many, many times. When I was little, I jumped in an 18 feet deep pool, not knowing how to swim. I fought to the surface and yelled one word. “Help!” I knew my daddy would come, and I didn’t have to be afraid. He saved my life. He continues to save it every day as he works in the Navy.
My dad is the best man I know, for all of these reasons and so much more.
Last night my dad talked to me of an opportunity for him to go to Iraq. He told me of his want to go, along with his want to stay. He says he is praying hard, and hopes I will, too. He wants to be able to defend our country on the lines, as well as he wants to stay home with us. Right now, we do not know what will happen.
I love my dad.
When he turned to leave after praying that night, I reached up and hugged him. He doesn’t get that much, and it was the only way I could think to show what I felt. He held me tightly, and I have never felt more loved or protected.
I love my dad.
My dad whispered to me that I wasn’t perfect (I am always trying to be, failing, and feeling horrid about it) and that our family wasn’t perfect. But we try, and we can still love each other. When he let me go, he laid me down and cupped my face in his hands. “I love you” was in his voice, his eyes, and his touch.
No matter what is ahead, I do not want to forget that.
I love you, too, Dad.
