God gave me my father to make me laugh, to be my voice of reason, and to pass on his brown eyes.
God gave me my father to balance out my mother; he is positive to her negative, chill to her high-strung, and patient to her impatience.
God gave me my father so that I’d have someone to teach me how to drive, how to sing, and how to work.
God gave me my father because He knew as a tomboy, I’d need someone to play tools, softball, and tennis with.
God gave me my father to take me fishing even if it meant he had to wake up at 5 a.m. after working a 17-hour day.
God gave me my father to watch, observe, listen, and analyze. He isn’t perfect, but I’ve learned a lot by watching him fail, succeed, age, and grow.
God gave me my father to give me my nickname and my favorite hugs and scruffy kisses.
God gave me my father because He knew he’d be my first best friend. He also did because He knew he was just sensitive and strong enough not to be mad at me when someone else took on that title.
God gave me my father because He knew I needed someone who would laugh instead of cry with me on my wedding day. Someone who would pray when I was scared. Someone to make an inappropriate joke at a time when others would cringe, but I needed it most.
God gave me my father because he knew my kids would need a Grandpop, and He knew I would always need my dad, my inside joke partner, my friend.
Strong and steady. Not one to make a fuss. He doesn’t call me, but he texts me every day. He is good, and he is mine.
God gave me my father, and I am so thankful that He did.
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My Dear Daughters, This Is How You Should Be Treated—Love, Dad
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