When I was little, I used to love holding my father's hands. 

Whether it was for something important like crossing the street or something simple like pulling him somewhere so that I could show him something, I loved the safety, the security, the sudden bravery that came with holding my dad's hands. They were always bigger than mine, much bigger, and I remember that they weren't as soft or smooth as my mother's hands or as tender as my cousins' or friends' hands. I remember tracing his fingertips once, running my index finger over the calloused ridges and wondering how his hands had gotten to be so rough. That worn-ness, something about it always made me feel as though he was the most dependable person around. No one could beat my Daddy in anything, because he was so smart and strong and funny and tall and he had the biggest belly and brightest smile and nicest laugh in the whole world...

...and he was all mine. Even as my siblings came and the realization that he wasn't just 'my' daddy anymore sunk in, I would still look forward to those trips to the mall or the convenience store, or even to the park with the ducks and the fountain in the middle of the lake. 

I used to love taking trips with my dad, used to run so excitedly toward the car as he brought us to God knows where on Saturday afternoons, laughing as me and my brother chatted and sang obnoxiously to whatever pop song just so happened to be playing on the radio before he changed the station to catch Fresh Air on NPR - his favorite afternoon program. And on Sundays I used to be so envious. Envious that my mother never tried to force him to go to church, envious as I watched him fiddle with his electronic remote control cars that my mother used to hate so much, envious that he didn't have any last minute homework assignments to finish, and envious of the fact that he already knew how to do all of the things that I was only just learning in school.

And yet, despite the envy, I used to be so thankful without even realizing it. 

I was thankful that he took the time to help me with my math and science homework, even when I knew he'd rather be watching tv or working on one of his projects; I was thankful that he brought me to 'Take Your Child to Work Day', even if I complained later that it was super boring and told him that I didn't want to visit again; and I was especially thankful that even though we could never give him anything to special or fancy for Father's Day, he would still accept our "you can control the tv for today" with a happy smile, a matching chuckle, and an "Oh, okay, thank you!" 

And how could I forget? My daddy was the one who taught me how to dance by letting me stand on both his feet and hold his hands as he played music I couldn't understand and tilted and spun us across the living room floor, hysterical giggles racking my entire 5-year old being as my mother watched and shook her head in the distance - a soft smile on her face as she bounced my not-so-newborn brother on her knee. 

And he was there when I slammed my hand in the car door and he rushed over when I got hit by a car and he brought me to the hospital both days my sisters were born and he taught me how to ride a bike and he was there when I got sick and needed to be picked up from school and he was the one who told me not to call him 'Dad' because he liked 'Daddy' best and he was the one who bought me a brand new flute with an instructional book and dvds when I had mentioned wanting to learn to play in grade school and he was the one who taught me how to drive and he's teaching my brother how to drive now and he'll probably teach both my sisters how to drive too when the time comes and he visited my mother almost every day she was ever in the hospital and he never got rid of the ceramic fish I made for him in first grade, even when I cried and tried to throw it away because I thought it was ruined after one of the tailfins broke off, and he never ever forgot my birthday, even when he had trouble remembering everyone else's... 

...and even now, he still introduces me to his friends, coworkers, and collegues as his little girl - his 'ti petite' - even though there are 3 of us girls now and still only 1 boy. 

So now, as the clock strikes midnight and I hear his loud snores seeping through the cracks of the door and wall that separates us, I realize just how much I miss holding my Daddy's hands. 

(sorry, I was suddenly really reminiscent and now I'm in tears. ack, my feels always get me at the strangest times)

{2/19/2013}