I love my Dad. I love him like the 47 year old woman I am. I’ve accepted him for the human he is and I love him faults and all. It’s a plain, simple, uncomplicated feeling. I’m over the common issues of him not living up to any silly parental ideal I personally have which somehow translates into “I don’t deserve love cuz he didn’t love me like the ideal”. My self esteem isn’t wrapped up or crippled by what he did or didn’t, does or doesn’t do.
There is no heavy thought or gushing about it. I love him. He’s a big oblivious geek-type who has never really known how to handle his opinionated, dominant-personality oldest daughter. I know I baffle him. (Hell, I baffle most of my family.) But I also know he loves me anyways.
It’s all very civilized and warm and grown up.
But sometimes… sometimes the little girl in me just wants to love her Daddy. She wants to go back to that all-encompassing pure love of just going up to him, gushing with emotion and saying, “I love you Daddy.” And feeling him hug me back and say, “I love you too.” Somehow this level of innocent expression seems so much more valuable. A treasure I gave up to be a grown up. And a part of me wants to experience it again. Love him like that, even if its for just a minute.
And I don’t think Dad will mind it much to be “Daddy” again. To be hugged by the little girl he watched grow up, learn not to need him and change into someone who saw him just as another person. One she loved, yes, but just another person in her life. Not “Daddy” anymore… the most important man in her existence. No, I don’t think he’d mind feeling that for a single minute.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to go make a phone call…
“Hi, Dad?”