Love #5

Floyd Gillespie, born January 31, 1913, died February 5, 1975.

My Daddy.

A tough anniversary date for me today, but the perfect time to celebrate my love for the man who is half of who I am. A man who not only married a woman 18 years his junior, but took in her four children and helped bring two more into the world. A man who wouldn't stop once he got home until Mom could sit down too. He read to me. Played with me. Taught me to love the world and my Heavenly Father.

I never heard him yell. He took me for rides on his motorcycle and let me sit in the front. He built me a sandbox and tossing games and called me his little princess.

When I was three I decided to ride down the block on my tricycle, unaware of how dangerous that could be in a city as large as Los Angeles. One of the neighbors invited me in for a tuna fish sandwich and I spent a good amount of time at their house before I climbed back on my tricycle and headed home. On the way back Daddy found me and hands on his hips asked where I'd been. I told him what had happened and he explained how worried they were when they couldn't find me.

I looked up at him and with tears in my eyes said, "I sorry Daddy. I not eat witches anymore."

I still remember the twitch of his mouth as he tried not to laugh and how it felt for him to gather me up in his arms and hold me tight. I may have only had him for four short years, but I could not have asked for a better father. Ever patient and kind, he is the example of parent I strive to be.

I love you, Daddy. You've got a corner of my heart forever.