Daddy's Girl

He picks up the paintbrush and with one, quick swipe draws a smiley face and writes PAM on the dining room wall.  I remember clapping my hands with delight.  He, of course, painted over it and continue to complete the task of painting the dining room.  The artwork is gone but the memory remains forever.

About the same time, he was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands softly weeping.  We had a boxer dog named Butch that had a bad habit of sitting under our vehicle.  He had backed out on his way to work and accidentally ran over Butch. 

I was hiding in my parents' bedroom.  I was, no matter what, supposed to stay in there.  I, of course, cracked the door open and peeked out.  He was carrying my Christmas present table and chairs while saying, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

The note was on the kitchen table.  All it said was, "Go get your Pinto."  And that was it.  I had my first new car.  A Grabber Blue Pinto.

He looked uncomfortable in the rented tux but he took my arm and walked me down the aisle to that incredibly young man who wanted me for his wife.

He got in the car and drove two days into a part of the country he had never seen to see that first and, as it turned out, only granddaughter.

And, two decades later, he drove out again to see her get married.

And that  man is my Daddy.

Happy Birthday, Daddy

  And, yes, there are tears in my eyes as I write this.