My Father's Hand

I'm 22 years old....and by our society's standard (and my own) I am an adult.

I have a job, a home, a fiance, and a dog. I make big decisions (like moving across the country) and I make big mistakes (like misplacing my fiance's credit card!!....fixed. Don't worry!)

But make no mistake, I am still Daddy's little girl. I still adore being held by him, and confiding in him as I have done for so very long. And when I hold his hand, my world is right. Nothing is to big for my Dad and I to conquer together. He calls me Rocky because I am like him: determined, strong-willed, driven to succeed, and unwilling to let my circumstances overcome me.

He has taught me about love, life, integrity, and putting family first. He has modeled all of these values for me by the way he lives his own life. He has always supported me and he always will. He calls me everyday to tell me how much he loves me.

I'm 22 years old....but I miss him everyday. My first nickname from him was Teddy Bear, because all I wanted to do as a little girl was sit on his lap, hold his hand.

My Dad's hand is like his life: big and strong and weathered by a life of hard work. His confidence is seen in every move he makes. And his faith is displayed in every interaction he has.

My Dad is a great man, he's my man. And I am so thankful for him.

My Dad just celebrated his 51st birthday on November 27th, and I couldn't be more proud of the man he is: the son, the husband, the father, the grandfather, the friend, the employee, and the boss he is to everyone in his life.

I don't care how old I get, when I see my Dad, I will never stop reaching for his hand.

I love you, Daddy, always and forever.