My dad doesn't say a lot. And when he does, it's usually mumbled. He used to have a full red beard and mustache, but over time it turned white (two teenage girls is apparently stressful). His favorite colors are old gold and black, after his Alma mater Purdue. He's severally outnumbered in the male female ratio, my mom, two daughters, and now even the dog's a girl.
And while my dad's not the most talkative, outgoing guy, he has always been there for all his girls. He chaperoned field trips, came to every band event, has watched every race and helped us moved more times than we can count.
I remember walking home with my dad as a very little kid. It was summer and dusk, and I have no idea where we were walking back from. But he still had on his work shirt and tie (this was back in the day when professional men wore ties to the office). And my sister and I must have been too tired to walk, because he was holding each of us in an arm, our heads on his shoulder. I noticed his shirt had a pink stripe in the plaid (it was the 80's) and said:
"Daddy, you have pink in your shirt. You can't have pink in your shirt, you're a boy."
His response was: "Well, I have 2 girls, so I'm allowed to wear pink."
Me: "oh, ok." Made sense to me then. Still makes sense to this day.
I doubt he remembers that. He can't remember where he put his hat half the time. But no matter how old I get, I'll always want to be my daddy's little girl.
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