He Calls Me Pooh

We have always had the kind of father-daughter relationship that I know so many longed for.  And, I don’t take it for granted.

Fights were fierce because we are both fiercely independent. (The apple never does fall far, does it?) And, we were a lot alike in our thinking.

Still are, really. Black and white ain’t got nothin’ on us.

The Nana used to say of me, “You walk like your father and talk like your father!” I always took it as a compliment.

But, the most beautiful part of our interactions came during the times of crisis.

Feeling ugly:

“Aw, Pooh, you’re the most beautiful girl to me.”

Being on the verge of dropping out:

“Aw, Pooh, the only one who can make this decision is you.”

Not telling the truth and getting into trouble with the law:

“Aw, Pooh, why do you have to make things so hard?”

Broken relationships that nearly broke me:

“Aw, Pooh, people will come and people will go – but you’ll always have your family.”

And, of course, the one period of my life that darn near broke him – the dreaded tween years when I didn’t want to hug and kiss “my dad” anymore…

“Aw, Pooh, I understand.”

To the man who brought me up, bailed me out, and boosted my spirits; the man who showed me how to hunt, fish, and love; The dad who taught me to be brave, shoot for the moon, and not give up; to the man whose stances I’ve watched soften, hair I’ve watched greying, and faith I’ve watched grow…

Happy Father’s Day!


To the man who calls me Pooh…

I love you.