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