Memories of a “Daddy’s Girl”

I think a lot about my dad at this time of year and I become very nostalgic. He had a way of making everyday feel special.

If I were granted one holiday wish, it would be that my father were still alive, so he could meet his precious grandchildren. I know he would have been the best grandpa.

Here are some sweet memories of my dad that warm my heart.

The way he used to hold my hand while walking down the street, even when I was too old to “need” it. I’d pretend to be embarrassed, but I secretly liked it too.

Playing, “What number am I thinking of?” and to my amazement, “guessing” it EVERY time. I thought I was psychic. And even though it never worked on my friends, the game never lost it’s appeal.

Making slice n’ bake chocolate chip cookies for him. He loved it when I baked the whole log without slicing, so it was crunchy on the outside and gooey in the middle. We’d eat it straight from the pan while watching Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show.

Going to the toy store with my dad, my siblings and our best friend on Sundays after spending the day at the park and pony rides. We weren’t allowed to leave the store until each one of us picked out a small toy. Even though I was the baby of the bunch, I was always chosen to be in charge of how much we were allowed to spend. Given my lack of math skills, I can see why we always went over budget (and why they chose me)!

Pony rides. I would beg my dad to take me for a ride on the “pretty ponies,” even though I was absolutely petrified of them. He always made sure I had “Sugar,” the sweetest, slowest (oldest!) horse. With one hand in mine and the other on Sugar’s reins, he would gently guide us around and around and around the corral until he and Sugar were exhausted. As with most things, we’d finish off with ice cream.

Going to his office and being his little “assistant.” I would “reorganize” (I use that term loosely) his briefcase or put stamps on envelopes, until the “boss” was ready to take me to lunch.

Our love of supermarkets. Sometimes my dad would “help” my mom out by taking all the kids and going to the market on a Sunday. My dad loved food and shopping, so he’d let us put anything we wanted in the basket, which was usually something greasy or sugary. Of course, my mom had a fit when she saw what we brought home!

Finishing his coffee. My dad liked it very sweet and with lots of cream. He always saved the last few drops for me, which I’d pour into my milk turning it the color of milk chocolate. It’s the only way my parents could get me to drink milk.

Is there any wonder where the sweet tooth and coffee addiction came from?! One thing I’ve found is that no matter how old I get, I will always be “Daddy’s Girl.”