Why I Love My Dad
I’ve written before (several times) about why I think my dad hung the sun, moon, and stars. But I don’t know that I’ve ever mentioned one thing that he does that touches me deeply.
All my life, my dad has given my mom cards. All the time. Birthdays, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, anniversary … and sometimes just because. I just assumed that was something all husbands did. I assumed wrong, as many of my married friends have informed me.
Now, when I was in my early 20s, Daddy would call and take me to lunch on my birthday. When I lived in Chicago, he’d send me a birthday card. When I was home, his card would be on the table, waiting for me at breakfast on my birthday. And my family always exchanged cards on Valentine’s Day, too — though now that cards are so frightfully expensive, we don’t do them so much.
But when I opened my mailbox on Saturday, there was Daddy’s Valentine’s card to me. And I realized that ever since my divorce, he has made it a point to make sure my Valentine’s Day isn’t empty. I can count on a card — in the mail — from Daddy on my birthday and on Valentine’s Day. Every year. For ten years now. And he started taking me to lunch on my birthday again after the divorce. Because he wants me to feel special. And I do. His love makes me feel so very special.
It’s those little, thoughtful, loving gestures that make him special. He remembers important dates and recognizes them. He cares that I don’t feel alone or forgotten on days like Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, and my birthday. And he catches little offhand comments, like the one I made many years ago about there never being anything in my mailbox but bills, and makes his observances even more touching.
Just another reason that I adore Daddy. He loves me. And he shows it.