Daddy, Dad, Pop, Pops, Old Man, Father...
What scares the hell out of me is not the fact that for the past 361 days, I've been half his age, but that his respective past 361 days at this age were with a newborn daughter. I'm looking at my life, and my friends' lives, at the entire *world* and thinking...well, the polite version is "We're not allowed to have children yet." And yet he did. And for that decision, I'm quite grateful. (I like being here) My dad has been the second-most important and influential person in my life. (Yes, Momma was first. I think he's ok with being second, since she's, well, mom) I admit it; I'm a total, absolute daddy's girl. I love my dad. He has always been the smartest, coolest, handiest, most capable person on the planet. His memory might be a bit sketchy at times (he had a habit of forgetting his children after school) and he happens to be left-handed, but that just makes him ours. I'll put my dad up against your dad any day, and mine? will WIN. No question. I have great faith in my father, great and blind belief that there was nothing he could not handle. (We'll skip the requisite teen 'you don't understaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand' period, because that's mandatory in any parent/child relationship)

My dad spent my life working hard, working inside and outside, working to make our lives better and carving a homestead out of a dead hill. My dad didn't wear suits and work in an office; my dad was, and is, a craftsman, a man who would turn 2x4s into art thru magic and a Mikita. My life was spent in woodshops and paint booths and the outdoors, where his professional life was shared equally with my mom. Equality and feminism weren't political words in our house, but they were the language of our family. My sister and I watched our parents work side by side in every activity; Momma in the shop, Dad in the kitchen. Dad never let us feel incapable of any task given us, girls or not, and showed us how to be competent and capable women in a glass-ceilinged world. Dad had us out working on the cars and van when we'd rather be inside doing, well, anything else; I know my way around a tool bench, a acetylene torch, a tractor, and the proper way to shingle and side a house/barn/shed/porch.

My dad taught me the value of dreaming, of believing in the 'other' that science fiction promises; he showed me how to question science and God equally and intelligently and find my own answers. Dad taught me that while he should have been an astronomer, sometimes it's necessary to pursue dreams on the side while finding a major that might pay at some point. Dad is an artistic soul in a practical/mechanical person, and taught me to find the beauty not only in traditional art like glass and clay but in pieces of wood or land or sky. He yoked these opposite strengths to design our home, showing me that anything is possible with a little help from your family and friends (who pitched in to help Momma and Dad build the whole thing with a 2 year old in tow). He taught me to have pride in my work, and do it to the best of my abilities.

Daddy loves me beyond reason, beyond thought, beyond anything that can be expressed. I have never questioned that I am loved, even in the depths of depression and loneliness. My daddy was my first love and the measuring stick I hold all men up against. (Sorry, guys. That's just how it is.) My dad is what I think of when I consider God. Good, just, kind, benevolent and fair (with a touch of sad disappointed disciplinarian), but always always loving me. I'm lucky to have that. I don't fear religion, I don't fear God, I don't fear death, I don't fear anything because of my dad. I have never been denied a hug, a touch, a listening ear no matter what else is going on. My father put his family first, and that is the most selfless thing I know of.

My dad has also become a dear friend now that I've grown up and away. I've taken vacations with my dad, mission trips to hot places where I burn and work hard and yet come home feeling as if it was the most relaxing time ever because I helped my dad. Have you ever seen those little kids who follow their dads around, 'helping' as they hand him something and ask continuous questions and ultimately extend his project a good hour? That's me and my dad...but the projects are slightly bigger and more involved now. (Roofing a porch, mixing concrete by hand, wiring a home, cutting apart dead trees with a chainsaw--that one was my 20th birthday. Thanks, Dad. I now know I can use a chainsaw 'correctly') He still listens to me talk for hours (and hours and hours...) and then sorts thru it all to find what I'm not saying. He always supports.

Always.

Dad, I love you. I'm proud to be your daughter. I thank you for taking the step into fatherhood with both feet and being the best man for the job. I look forward to knowing you for another 26 years, and even 26 past that.

Thank you for being my daddy.