I married a man who is, on
the surface, very little like my father. Bonfires, guitars, and picnics in the
woods will be memories of my daughter's childhood, they are not mine. But I
have my own memories, and I wouldn't trade them: archery in the backyard,
walkie-talkies on road-trips, late-night boardgames, and the everyday lesson of
love. A lesson Yarrow is also learning. The man who raised me and the man I
married love abundantly. I have an unending supply of memories of my father
stopping to help not only his family, but everyone around him: photos for
tourists, encouragement for the uncertain, directions, gifts, and
understanding.
I love to watch my husband with
Yarrow and see one of my favorite childhood memories lived again - a daughter
delighting in her father's love.
Happy father's day
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