My Daddy

My daddy is a quiet soul. A righteous man. Growing up in Alabama, he taught me grace, humility, and patience. In my 40 years, I've never heard him yell. He will be 70 this year, which amazes me. In my mind, he'll always be that guy that I ran with up and down our driveway. Who I planted daffodils with in the yard. Who took us to the beach and held me on a float while I rocked the waves. Who knocked the crab off my back that grabbed skin and held on. Who taught me how to drive. Who helped me pack my stuff in a truck and drive down I-95 in traffic to dump the few things I owned into a 400-square-foot room on South Beach when I was 24-years-old to start my life as an attorney. Because he believed in me. He trusted my judgment. And although it killed him, which as a parent I can now finally appreciate, he let go. He trusted that what he'd sunk his heart and soul and life into for 20 years would stick. And that I would be okay.
On this Father's Day, I'm not going to tie the blog into my writing journey. Instead, I'm going to take the time to honor the man who has never, ever disappointed me and has always been my biggest cheerleader. He is the best dad. In. The. World. For those of you who know him, you know what he's been through. My older brother was in a car accident that left him paralyzed on one side. My dad stood beside him through painful and endless rehab. My little brother accidentally overdosed at 30. And my Mama lives in a nursing home dying of a horrible, degenerative brain disease. But my sweet daddy remains, and will always be, my hero. For his strength. And humility. And faith. And unconditional love.
I love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.