Why I'm my Daddy's Little Girl

My father is the most important person in my life, and I never want to forget all the little moments we share. I will forever be his little angel, his daughter fledgling. I love you Dad <3

2 years ago

Jour des Papas

This blog should have more posts than it does.

I’ve tried to write down the most meaningful moments because I never want to forget them. People here admire you exceedingly for the man that you are, and you deserve that. I’m sorry if I was insolent, ungrateful, spoiled and rude in my adolescence. I’m sorry if I ever yelled or ran or failed or scared you. All I want is to make you as proud as you’ve made me.

I don’t know what I’d do without you. 

You are the greatest father anyone could ever hope to have.

I’m gonna cry so I’ll just stop here.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. <3

2 years ago 1 note


My father really must be from another dimension, because the energy he emits is calmer than anything I’ve ever felt before. All he has to do is walk in the room and my grey skies clear. I think, in a way, that my father is my soulmate- not in the creepy disgusting way you’re currently thinking, but in the way that nobody could ever be so perfect as him; nobody can smile the way he does, laugh the way he does, heal and calm me the way he does. Nobody will ever match me so perfectly as he does. What will I ever do when I lose him?

I have a physics midterm tomorrow and have been hiding in the spare room upstairs studying for the past few hours. I wasn’t really getting anywhere as physics is my ultimate nemesis, especially when crossbred with calculus like it is in university. I digress. My mother came in and asked, how is it going? And I didn’t really answer, just grunted, and she came over and kissed my head.

For some reason, I cannot fucking stand it when she does that. On normal days of the month it’s okay, but during my hormonal time I get a bigger surge of anger from her doing that than from almost anything else. I can’t explain it, I really don’t know why it physically bothers me so much, because in principle it’s really nice and a safe, motherly thing. But just the effort it took to control that surge of fury exhausted all the stamina I had left in me, so I started crying. 

Now, my mother can’t stand it when I cry. She gets all flustered because she doesn’t know what to do, so she asks a million questions about what she can do to fix it. But that just annoys me more, so I cry harder. Eventually she leaves with my tea mug to go make me some more, which is nice of her because tea makes everything better.

I hear her talking to my father downstairs in that tone she has for times when her daughter flies off the handle. A few minutes later I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and a calm begins to come over me as he opens the door. He says nothing but to put down an M&M cookie on a napkin in front of me, give me a backwards hug and kiss my head. [I absolutely love it when he does that.] So I spew… blabbering in my choked, teary voice about how nothing is working and these physics principles are completely escaping me and no matter what I do the equations don’t work. He hasn’t taken physics for almost 40 years but he pulls up a chair and starts to try to help me. He can’t really do much but his lack of knowledge makes me feel strangely better about mine. He just keeps touching my back, and my tears subside and everything is okay.

Everything is okay when he is beside me. As much as I want to make him proud, I know he will still love me when I fail.

2 years ago 1 note


My mother had surgery today- just a standard procedure to remove a small cyst from an obscure place. It wasn’t cancerous, but it wasn’t right, so they took it out. She’s had it done before.

Basically it just means she’s in a lot of pain and can’t sit up or drive or eat solid food for about a week, so we have to take care of her. Which is more than okay, because she takes care of us every other day of our lives.

But my daddy woke up at 4 in the morning so he could drive her to the hospital for her surgery. He could have gone to work while she was in the OR, but no, he stayed. He waited at the hospital for her to be better, and then he drove her home, and he stayed with her all day. He fed her and bathed her and watched silly movies and listened to her babble about how her daughter is failing university. He loves her, I know it.

He stayed. 

2 years ago 1 note


Even the little things he does make me smile.

I’m a picky eater. Still. My poor parents believed it would get better, that they wouldn’t have to live on spaghetti and pizza for the rest of their lives, but they were wrong. Well okay, I eat more than that now, but I still refuse to eat certain things. 

Like mushrooms.

In my defence I have tried them, over and over, cooked in all sorts of ways and all different kinds… but I just can’t stomach them! I can’t do it! They are like little alien organs sliding down my throat. I know, I know, I’m a big girl now, eighteen years old and I can’t eat a damn mushroom? 

Friday night is pizza night and we get this delicious vegetarian pepperoni pizza, with green peppers and, yes, mushrooms. I tried to eat them, and I’ll admit of all the mushrooms I’ve tried these are the best. But they wreck the whole effect of the pizza. They just do. I’m sorry. So I sit there silently, my parents chatting, and I pick off each offending mushroom appendage from my pizza. And I put them in a neat, disgusting pile on the right side of my plate. (My father sits on my right- he’s my right-hand man. Always.)

And in the middle of his conversation, he will reach over with his fork and scoop up my mushrooms and eat them all. He won’t blink, give me a “grow the fuck up” look, or reprimand me.

He just lessens my everyday burdens by reaching out and eating my mushrooms.

2 years ago


Today when we got home from church, my father and I were bumbling around making our respective lunches and we were unfortunately utilizing the same counter for both of our plates. We were laughing and pushing each other out of the way, trying to share the butter and the toaster.

I was humming a song from church and my dad started humming along. We kept making this little music and then my dad brought out the tenor harmony. I started to sing full out, vibrato and everything, just for the sheer joy I am brought by vocal expression and the sound of my own voice. I was hoping my daddy would smile and say what a talented daughter he has. He started to sing too.

I opened my arms like a songbird spreads her wings and my dad came and hugged me, and we slow-danced together as we sang in dual harmony, the kitchen filling with the smell of buttered toast and the sound of our voices.

God is our guide from beginning to end; our journey is never alone.

-Standing on Holy Ground, Mark Hafso

2 years ago


A few years ago my dad let me paint my room the colour that I loved - turquoise. But on my one random wall I said I wanted a beach scene… so my Dad painted me palm trees. Now when I look around my room I’m surrounded by the most cool and calming colour in the history of forever…and I have my own private beach. It’s amazing. But the one thing we didn’t get finished those two years ago was my ceiling… which I wanted painted with glow-in-the-dark stars.

So finally this year we were redoing the floors and I thought that while the floor was all torn up would be a good time to risk paint dripping on the floor. So my father and I spent an hour painstakingly dotting every tiny star on my ceiling. He drew me the big dipper (with my ‘special’ star on the end), Orion, and even Scorpius, with Promessa in the star cluster. That night when I went to bed, I turned off my light and gasped at the starscape my father and I had created together.

But the most meaningful thing was this:

Last night I was up late doing homework, and my parents went to bed before me (as usual). When I finally fell into bed, I looked up and smiled at my stars all over again.

In the morning my dad said, Did you have a good sleep? I answered yes. He said, “Good, I had hoped so. I got up and turned your light on so that you would have the stars to sleep under when you finally got to bed.”

2 years ago 3 notes


My father has this made-up language. No one understands what exactly he’s saying, even he doesn’t. But he uses it to express certain emotions (always in a humorous context, of course). And it always makes me laugh. Whenever he speaks it he gets super animated and makes these big gestures and exaggerated facial expressions, and I laugh and laugh. It makes my day.

Today I had to bring my breakfast smoothie to school to eat on the way, and I had the container in the water bottle pocket of my backpack when I got home. We were just chatting and then he sees that I haven’t washed it out and just bursts out with


and grabs the bottle and holds it up and shakes it in my face, looking all stern.

And I just laugh and laugh and laugh… all my troubles of the day go away. He pretends to mutter his discontent in his little made-up language as he washes it out, while I sit behind him absolutely laughing my pants off. Me, his almost-18-year-old-university-science-student daughter, laughing with as much joy and mirth as when he did exactly the same thing when I was 8.

I love my father so much.