A Note To My Father

I was often told of our instant love story when I was young.

Coming home from the hospital, my father had stars in his eyes.

He held me proudly, parading me to every neighbor to introduce his baby girl to the world.

Dad held my hand everywhere we walked.

My small inocent hands loved the feeling of his strong, rough hands.

It's true, in my parents embrace is where I felt safest.

Being the only girl, I was treated like a princess.

But I was raised like the boys.

My wild side was encouraged.

Dad loved when I took action.

But he hurt when I cried.

Made sacrifices to his day to be with me when I was hurt.

Even in adulthood he would travel great lengths to hold me up.

And there is no love greater.