I Am My Father's Daughter- A Love Letter of Sorts

“I am my father’s daughter.”
I find myself saying that on a regular basis these days. But I am. I may not look like him at all. Actually, I really don’t even know who I look like in my family. I do know this, that I am without a shadow of doubt my father’s daughter.
I catch myself looking up reviews on anything and everything imaginable before I make a purchase.
Amazon is my go to place for shopping and I’m making friends with UPS delivery man that brings all of dad’s packages with Amazon printed all over them.
While my dad has an entire room dedicated to music, I have an entire hard drive.
Our random acts of kindness usually have something to do with mixing CD’s for friends or gnarley music videos on youtube.
He likes to hunt down and research old artwork he finds in thrift stores while I’m googling the designer of the dress I paid 50 cents for at Faith Rescue Mission.
Why am I so obsessed with photography?
I like writing in all caps.
And I CAN’T STAND it when someone else does my own laundry. It HAS to be just so.
Our bonding moments usually have something to do with our love for Mexican food.
Who do you think taught me everything I know in the grand and glorious game of softball?
I draw. What? Me Draw? Wonder where that came from.
I can hold my own in a conversation about football politics any day, but I’d much rather talk about the newest musician I found online. I know deep down my dad would also.
I have a terrible back. Thanks Dad.
On occasion I will sleep upside down in my bed :)
Who likes World War II and black and white movies? *raises hand*
My dad and I are the only two people I know that actually has the Kindle software.
I got to art galleries and find that he’s already written his name on the email listing; he beat me to it.
Taking the scenic route? I think YES!
The beach? No thanks, I’ll take the mountains any day.
Countless more analogies.


See my dad is one of those people you’ll never quite figure out. He’s not a complicated dude at all, but he’s just so much more. Yeah sure, he likes to sit back in his nice comfy chair (or throne I like to call it) and watch football all day, that’s pretty normal, but there’s so much more to him, and it will only be uncovered by careful scrutiny over years and years. Which being his child, I have had all my life to do. Now Dad, I know you’re reading this, and if anyone knows I’m difficult to understand it would be you. My mysterious persona didn’t come from thin air either.
My father finds contentment in reading a good ole western tale or being in the yard with the dogs; heck he even looks like he’s having an amazing time while cutting the grass. But he also seeks adventure traveling near and far with the top down and the rest of the porch gang. He goes to more concerts that I do, and I’m definitely a concert junkie. He’s driven me as far as Arkansas for just one weekend, not to mention he’s driven me to Birmingham 3 or 4 times a week merely to play softball. Do I consider this adventure? Yes, and everyone needs it. My dad seems to be quite aware of it and I hope to spend much more adventure time with him.

On more than one occasion this week alone, I’ve had to stop myself in the middle of an activity look at my palms and verbally say “I’m just like my dad!” These words are said with utmost excitement and with the most precious smile that my little face can exhume. I honestly couldn’t think of someone that I’d want to be more like (Well besides Jesus.).
Again, I am my father’s daughter, and I couldn’t be more proud of that statement.
I love you, Dad.