Dear Daddy. . .Thank you

I'm a little biased here, but the guy in this pictures with the mustache and his arms around that lady who looks like me is pretty damned perfect.

That's my Daddy. My rock. My ace. The man who never allowed me to believe that I couldn't do anything I put my mind to.

A few things he tried to get me into didn't work out. Like basketball. He bought me a really nice one from the hardware store and I sat on it and read a book.

This man still has my mold covered left handed softball glove at the house where I grew up.  A few weeks ago, I asked him why was he keeping it and in Freddie fashion, he took the glove out of my hand and put it right back where I had gotten it from. That was the end of that conversation.

When I realized I wanted to be writer, it was my Daddy who got me a typewriter, then a word processor and my first laptop. He suffered though the sound of a dot matrix printer going off in the middle of the night because I was printing my "book."

And let's not forget, my Daddy is a legit hero. He has the metals to prove it. My Dad wasn't drafted, he volunteered to serve his country.

And he's probably the best romance hero that I have never written about. He married my mama on Christmas Eve.

 When I first started writing this post, my Dad was still here. It was 2017 when I started this draft.

May, 2021, my father transitioned and left a huge hole in my heart. When I tell you this man loved me unconditionally and made me feel as if I could do anything. It hurts to know that’s missing from my life and no one will ever believe in me the way he did. 

God truly broke the mold when he made my Dad and all I can do is thank him for always believing in me.