WW2 Soldier. Faithful husband. Dad. Storyteller. A Father of three quirky daughters, and a daddy to one of the fairest butterfly fairy-wannabes. Me. My dad will always be my first hero. He’s the only guy I knew who dared to let a six-year-old comb and clip his hair at the dinner table while we waited for my mother to serve dessert—Some childhood snapshots never fail to remind me of the strength and love of my father — a little Girl’s dad.
A recent recording of father’s voice pierced my heart. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d had said he was sitting here next to me today, telling one of his war stories. I loved how he added subtle twists when he told classic or historical tales.
My father’s hands were robust and calloused as if they belonged to a weightlifter or lumberjack. Sissy and I admired his incredible ability to swing a heavy ax all day or how fast he built chicken coupes, tree houses, or anything my mother’s heart desired. Mom kept a box of rolled gauze and Band-Aids so she could dress his wounds at a moments notice. If blisters could have told his story, might I have understood more about life’s ups and downs or joys and sorrows? Probably not. To this day I wonder how this handsome NYC Transit Authority Foreman, summer mountain man, Mr. Fix it extraordinaire, and the best daddy ever had the strength of a lion wrapped and the gentleness of a lamb.
A king, and castle maker
Cinderella and Jasmine’s princes had nothing on my dad. He should have been a king. At least that’s how I remember him. Little girls love dads who don’t mind wearing crumpled tin foil crowns. They also like a big burly guy who can transform a cardboard box into a castle; he always did.
I miss him
He held my hand when we crossed the street or walked to the park. On summer nights, he told funny stories about the man on the moon. I imagined what it would be like to explore uncharted planets, ride on shooting stars, and about the One dad said hung them all in the sky. If my sister or I feared the darkness, he’d run to us, ready to eliminate aliens with his bare hands or if need be his favorite baseball bat. My father taught us about love and trust by loving us and always being there for his family and friends. I never doubted if he’d stand up to monsters or dragons or wolves to protect us, but dad also helped us conquer fears or any enemy that came our way with a weapon more powerful than a million guns or swords. “The weapon,” he’d said, “is prayer.”
The lord is my strength and my shield; My heart trusted in Him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart greatly rejoices, And with my song, I will praise Him.Psalms 28:7 (NKJV)
Sharing the love
Dad and mom lived the faith I have today. I’m here because they loved life and chose joy above sorrow. Family trials and heartaches came, but together, they endured. They decided to breathe deep and share the truth of that breath with their children. Over the years, that faith led me to believe in God’s unwavering promise. Life is an everlasting gift—The magnitude of this present, not too much for this story. After all, it’s one about a little girl and her dad.
~ Happy Father’s Day, everyday ~
“And we have known and believed the love that God has for us. God is love and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him.1 John 4:16 (NKJV)
I believe we can endure all things in the strength of our father in heaven’s love.
I’m excited to hear your thoughts and stories about your dads too. Don’t forget to join the conversation in the comments section below.Love and blessings, JC