From her first car to her first steps down the wedding aisle, a daughter remembers the man who led, loved and guided her to develop into a woman.
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Editor’s note: This is the fifth in a series of letters excerpted from Shoebox Letters—Daughters to Dads, a collection of over 30 letters from daughters to their dads about the role that their dad has played in their life. Heartfelt storytelling told through the unique letter format, the book provides readers a rare, personal glimpse into the life between the writer and the father.
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Dear Dad,
Your 70th birthday has given me a good reason to reflect on our relationship at this stage of my life, and on what your role as my dad means to me.
I’ve thought back over your unfailing presence in my life—the days and weeks and years through which you’ve fathered like a steady heartbeat: dependable, rhythmic, never missing a beat. I’ve recounted the million hours of playtime, the thousands of tuck-ins and kisses goodnight, the countless chauffeured car trips. I’ve remembered the mended broken things and books read aloud and the meals shared. I’ve relived the moments for which you were there—no matter the sacrifice of work, leisure, or sleep. I’ve thought about the emails sent from your office and the phone calls made from the car, the advice dispensed in person. I’ve recalled the hours of grandparenting and home improvements and family dinners that have filled our recent years.
Because Mom and I are so close, I know that on many days you’ve played a supporting role to her lead; yet there have been moments all your own, and I think you should know what some of them are.
As though it were yesterday, I remember you taking me to buy a car when I was in college. Somehow I thought this would be a long and careful process, but on the first lot, we found a car we both liked and after a test drive and thorough inspection, you said, “Well, are you ready to buy that car? Let’s do it!” Truthfully, I didn’t feel ready, and I had no idea how the process even worked, but you walked me through it and by the end of that day, I had a car of my own and the freedom to match. The message was, “Leap, little girl. You’re more ready than you think.”
A few years later, I was living in Atlanta and came home to Pennsylvania for a winter visit. I was training to run a marathon and needed to run 16 or 18 miles in the freezing cold. Mom didn’t want me to go—cautioning that my lungs would freeze (or something like that). But you got me out the door and onto the road. I was probably ten miles into that run when I saw your car approaching. You rolled down the window, and handed me a thermos of warm water. It was like having my guardian angel appear on that road with just what I needed. You told me where to leave the thermos and said you’d come back to get it. And I was back was on my way, warmed from the inside. The message was, “Go for it, little girl. But be smart and well-prepared.”
A year or two later, I was broken-hearted after a breakup and came home for Christmas only to learn that a childhood friend had gotten engaged that very same week. Green with envy and convinced I’d never be married myself, I was teary in church during Christmas Eve mass. You took me aside that night, still in the church, held my shoulders, looked straight into my eyes, and said, “Listen to me. One day you are going to fall in love with the right guy and I’ll bet he whisks you off to Paris or some other amazing place for the best engagement ever. All in good time.” And two months later, I did fall in love with the right guy and eventually we did have the best engagement ever. The message I heard was, “Have faith, little girl. Borrow my confidence until you feel your own.”
Two years later, you met me in the back of my church in Atlanta to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. I remember I had a lot of advice for you about how slowly we should walk and where we should look and how you should hold your arm and then it all flew by in a heartbeat anyhow. We got to the altar and you squeezed my hand and blinked back tears and you couldn’t say a word. But the message I heard was, “It’s time, little girl. And I love you.”
What I didn’t notice until I wrote this were that each of these capstone memories occurred during my transition from childhood to adulthood. Each represented a moment when I had to be let go in order to grow into my own life. Only you could have taken the lead in those moments, balancing a mother’s instinctive worry and a young woman’s fear and enabling me to take the step forward I needed to find my own footing.
Your faith, confidence, and unwavering support have moved mountains in my life. And they have mountains left to move, so don’t think for a second that your job is done! Here’s to the years ahead, and to playing your part with excellence. I need you more than ever.
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From more on the Shoebox Letters and series editor Clay Brizendine, check out the foreword excerpted from the book and a Q&A here.
The first four letters of the series can be found here:
Daughter to Dad: Be There and Be Accountable
Daughter Praises Dad for Unconditional Love
Daughter to Dad: You are the Standard for the Men in My Life
Dear Dad, Thanks For Teaching Me How to Bait a Hook and Wear Dresses
—photo by Tim Boehm Photography/Flickr