Daddy, My First Love (part 2)

One of the great things about a blog challenge is that it makes you think about things that you may not really write about otherwise.  It holds you accountable.  I like to have a group doing the challenge so that I can stay inspired.  It amazing how someone’s words can make you feel.  To be able to receive confirmation that others are going through things in their lives to aspire their own growth.  Today’s challenge was simple to me.  A blogger that I know personally is doing the challenge and he inquired as to how much I was I going to share.  I replied that I was going to keep it simple.  After further review of today’s challenge I am going to further elaborate upon my first love.

I haven’t written much about my daddy lately but he hasn’t been further from my thoughts.  He is always in my thoughts.  I think of him every time I look in the mirror.  I look so much like him as I get older or just see him in me more.  There are moments when I just look into the mirror for him.    I can sometimes feel him.  It’s kind of ironic, seemingly so that I cannot hear his voice.  I yearn to hear him.  I search through my memory rolodex for his voice clearly to hear it and I am often devastated when I can hear him.  I can’t reach the point that I can hear him but I know what was said but not in his tone.  That’s scary to me.  It makes me sad and it brings me into mourning again.  I just want to hear him say something. Anything.  Especially when there are things going on in my head that I need help conveying into words.  My daddy was a writer.  He wrote lyrics and produced music.  He had a genius way with words.  I just wish that I could hear him again.  One of the most special things about conversations with my dad was that he listened and very rarely gave me actual advice.  He had a way about him that made me think for myself and understand my concrete point of view.  He inquired to all the specifics, my feelings (my emotional point of view) and the facts (pros vs. the cons).  He made me figure my own way most times.  He never really told me his expectations of me which leaves me wanting it now.  He never really shared his plan for me from his point of view.  My mother is different in that aspect but not in a bad way.  Mainly, she is not my daddy.  I was daddy’s girl.  I love him and that is never past tense.  He was my first real love.  The man that I lightweight compare all men to.  Not just his purely wonderful qualities but some of his not pleasant attributes as well.  I examine these things as such that I care not to deal with. When you truly love a person you love them in their entirety.  The love I have for him is that way and unconditional. 

Everyone has flaws and there is not perfect being outside of God.  We are all constant works in progress always aspiring to be better.  We all go through things that make us feel, learn and hopefully grow.  We each deal with life’s happenings in different ways.  It’s the part of each being an individual.  Love is one of those things that just sort of happen and makes you feel all sorts of things.  So I am thankful to writing and those that write and keep me inspired, encouraged and accountable.  Thank you.  Thank you to Daddy Freckles for the love that just keeps on giving.