Daddy’s Girl

Dedicated to my Daddy!

I remember the day when everything changed. It was the day we laid the concrete. You were amazed at my strength. You knew I was a “Tomboy,” but I don’t think you realized how strong I had become. I could keep up with the guys and put in as much work as they did without complaint. You bragged about the fact that I could lift the 90-pound bag of cement and that my boy cousin, of the same age, could not. My heart beamed with pride. That was the day when I realized that all my life I had been my mother’s daughter, but I longed to be my daddy’s girl.

After that day, you seemed to smile at me more. Laugh with me more. Your eyes seemed to reflect pride in the fact that I was your daughter. After that day we’d take trips to the hardware store together. You seemed to want to show me off as your daughter. We work in the garage together. You wanted to teach me “guy” things. Trips to Minnesota to go fishing were different after that day. I would bait my own hook and would take off my own fish. You approved. Perhaps it was just because I was older now. I was almost 13. Maybe I was finally old enough that you felt like we might have something in common.

There are things you can ask me to do, that you would never dream of asking my sister. You never hesitate to ask me to help haul the wood, shovel the dirt, build the shed, re-roof the house, fix the cement slab, or put up the Christmas display. If it’s physical work, you know you can count on me. You know that I’m not worried about getting my hands dirty. Not afraid of a hard day or weekend of work. Not needing any payment. Just an approving smile or playful joke. Perhaps I have become “Daddy’s Girl.”

Last Forth of July you told me “You are your mother.” And I know that I am, but the shoe I’ve been trying to wear is “Daddy’s Girl.” Does it fit? Have I become who you have always wanted me to be? The look in your eye says that I have.