Daddy

When I think of my dad, I often think of those small moments we shared. I remember holding his hand as we crossed a parking lot; my little hand only being able to grip around his thumb or a couple fingers. I remember dancing on his feet, barefoot in the living room. I remember being his “punkin.” I remember him standing, by himself, in the hall of my high school after my senior promenade. I remember him giving me away and dancing with me at my wedding, making sure that I was happy. He just wanted me to be happy. Yes, I remember the discipline and the disagreements, but it’s more gentle now.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him and pray for him. Today and everyday, I say, “I love you, Daddy. Thank you.”

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