Dad.
Endless words could be said about Mom. She has been the anchor of our family, of my own short life. She is my confidant, my counselor, my friend, and my listening ear. As sweet as our relationship is, she isn't my Dad. Dad is on a plane all his own. Dad is wisdom, is depth, is strength, is courage, is thoughtfulness, is independence, is challenge to the norms.
Dad hugs me so tight it hurts. Dad hugs me so tight that I can be certain all will be right in the end. Dad holds his own. Dad has taught me to hold my own in the big world, to discern what is True and good, and to stand up for that and believe it and to make my voice known and heard. Dad knows how to be the head and not the tail. Dad knows how to let loose and to laugh and see beauty and joy and hope and complexity and ingenuity in creation and each circumstance he faces. Dad is loyal--deeply loyal and he loves those he loves with incredible depth. Dad knows how to tell a yarn, to recount a story in a way that makes you wish you could have been there because everywhere he goes he encounters adventure. Dad takes risks and always has. Dad taught me, probably without realizing it, how to live life a little dangerously. Dad works so hard and loves doing it. Dad holds my hand and rubs my back. Dad feels proud of me and takes delight in being with me.
When he raised me, he threw off convention, choosing to follow God and conviction instead. I'll never stop discovering pieces of my dad that are part of me, pieces of me that are only this way because of all he gave me and taught me. I'll never stop being thankful for his sacrifices, his prayers, his priorities (firstly serving God and loving Mom), and his big, unabashed love for his youngest girl. I thank him for my love of trees and mountains and hiking and campfires and cold water and books and heaters and grape nuts and boots with good ankle support and the islands and jumping off big cliffs and asking hard questions and memorizing the word and so, so much more.
Happy birthday, Dad. Sometimes all I want is for my kids to get to know you and be shaped by you the way I do.
Dad hugs me so tight it hurts. Dad hugs me so tight that I can be certain all will be right in the end. Dad holds his own. Dad has taught me to hold my own in the big world, to discern what is True and good, and to stand up for that and believe it and to make my voice known and heard. Dad knows how to be the head and not the tail. Dad knows how to let loose and to laugh and see beauty and joy and hope and complexity and ingenuity in creation and each circumstance he faces. Dad is loyal--deeply loyal and he loves those he loves with incredible depth. Dad knows how to tell a yarn, to recount a story in a way that makes you wish you could have been there because everywhere he goes he encounters adventure. Dad takes risks and always has. Dad taught me, probably without realizing it, how to live life a little dangerously. Dad works so hard and loves doing it. Dad holds my hand and rubs my back. Dad feels proud of me and takes delight in being with me.
When he raised me, he threw off convention, choosing to follow God and conviction instead. I'll never stop discovering pieces of my dad that are part of me, pieces of me that are only this way because of all he gave me and taught me. I'll never stop being thankful for his sacrifices, his prayers, his priorities (firstly serving God and loving Mom), and his big, unabashed love for his youngest girl. I thank him for my love of trees and mountains and hiking and campfires and cold water and books and heaters and grape nuts and boots with good ankle support and the islands and jumping off big cliffs and asking hard questions and memorizing the word and so, so much more.
Happy birthday, Dad. Sometimes all I want is for my kids to get to know you and be shaped by you the way I do.
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