how much I adore my father and all the love he showers upon his three children. I'm 31 years old and the man will still dote on me as if I were his little girl. He'll call to leave snippets of "our songs" on my voicemail, is always wanting to spend his time with us, and his words of wisdom either leave us in conniptions or thinking, "Damn, he's right."
Sometimes I act too cool for school when he wants me to return the kiss he just blew to me over the phone or feign annoyance when he playfully pats me over the head in public. But I'm grateful for him in spite of my stubbornness and fully believe that had he not been around to shine his light, love, and attention, I doubt I would have made it into adulthood alive. So today, when Dad hugged me goodbye after we left brunch, I wrapped my arms around him and let myself squeeze him extra tight because I know one day will come when I'm going to wish he were still calling me every day and serenading me in broken English. Here's to embracing all these years in between.