a letter to a dad of daughters

Dear Dad,
You are the best at painting nails, and even though I'm grown, you are still the best at painting nails. You were always reliable for drilling holes in my belts when my pants were to big, and my pants are always too big. Taking us to see the Dave Matthew's Band, and never making me wear shoes. And when I would get slivers and rocks in my feet from the world, you would so carefully take them out. Despite the tears and the pleading. And when the world tried to make me hard, you held my hands and made me soft again. Single dad-hood taught us sacrifice and differences. There were times you thought my worries needed a woman's advice, a motherly embrace, but I didn't. You said all the right things at all the right times in all the right places.
I will never love Formula One racing, or even love football to the same degree you do, but you taught me that was ok. Being different was ok. It was more than ok, you celebrated my differences. Taught me peace and acceptance.
Thank you for never forcing me to eat the dead animals that creeped me out, and teaching me how to love even after I had been hurt. Those nights I stayed up past my bedtime, and you talked to me while you played computerized solitaire taught me more than any book I've ever, ever read. You went beyond your call of duty.
You sacrificed your life, so I could live mine.

Love Always,
Your friend
Your eldest daughter,
Morgs