My Daddy

My Daddy was a gentle giant.

People always commented on what a big guy he was. I was always quick to point out that he was just “Daddy sized”.

The perfect size for a good bear hug. The perfect size to hold me up to see things little girls were too small to see. The perfect size to open jars. The perfect size to make me feel safe.

My Daddy was loyal. He had been a Saints fan since 1967. Need I say more? :)

My Daddy spent his free time holding onto the back of bikes, making runs to the skating rink and shopping for Ninja Turtles.

My Daddy coached basketball when I was six. He didn’t know anything about basketball, but I wanted to play and they needed a coach. So he coached basketball.

My Daddy sat through SIXTEEN dance recitals. Not because he was a lover of ballet, but because it was important to me.

My Daddy took me to work with him at his nursing home every single day the summer I was eleven. I learned to love “the least of these” and learned that my Daddy was adored by his staff. I was so proud to be “Mr. Strickland’s daughter”.

My Daddy chauffeured hormonal teenage girls to the mall in a minivan and tried to help us understand boys.
My Daddy listened to the same music I did. He was cool. :)

My Daddy taught me to keep my head on a swivel, wear my seatbelt, lock the doors and not pick up hitchhikers.

My Daddy was a great listener. He entertained many deep discussions with a daughter who thinks too much.

My Daddy told my sister and me that we could wear anything and look good. We make clothes look pretty, he said.

My Daddy encouraged me to follow my dreams and spread my wings, but made sure I knew I could always come back home.

My brother once said that we could pump gas and my Daddy would be proud of that. It’s true. He was proud of anything we did, but mostly just that we existed. Not everyone has someone like that in their lives.

My Daddy was funny. Hilarious. Hysterical. He could make me laugh until I cried, and usually about something that nobody else would understand.

My Daddy was a provider. Even after I got married I would often get envelopes marked “hamburger money”.

My Daddy could not stand to see anyone suffer. He was caring and compassionate.
I will never forget my husband coming to report back to me after announcing to a waiting room full of family and friends that our first baby had arrived. He told me everyone was anxious to see her. But he also told me that the first thing my Daddy asked was how I was. In a time when all of the attention shifted to the new baby, my Daddy wanted to make sure I was okay.

A few months later when I had to have a procedure done, my Daddy was the first one I saw when I woke up.

My Daddy was there through the good and the bad.

My Daddy was the best Daddy.

I am still proud to be Mr. Strickland’s daughter.