I love you papadew, from your little girl
Published 12:00 am Monday, June 19, 2006
There’s one man in my life that I couldn’t live without. No, it’s not my boyfriend- who by the way doesn’t exist, yet.
It’s my daddy, my pop, my papadew, and without him, I wouldn’t be alive – literally.
As you all may remember from the previous mentions of my family, I am the baby and the only girl in my family.
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From what I understand, my parents always wanted a little girl, but instead those pesky male chromosomes kept getting in the way.
The way my mom tells the story, once I was born and the doctor announced I was a girl, my dad, James, was so excited he screamed and ran down the hospital hallways.
Of course, that could be an exaggeration, but I like to think it’s the truth.
By now, you’ve probably figured that I am the definition of “daddy’s little girl,” and I am.
Ever since I could remember my dad’s been a workaholic, but just because he worked more than half the day away, doesn’t mean he didn’t find time to spend with his little girl.
I can remember all my friends in elementary school being jealous of me because my papadew was – and still is, in a sense- cool.
I would get out of class expecting to jump in the car with my mom or brothers, but would be delightfully surprised on a summer day when my dad rode his burgundy Kawasaki cruiser to pick me up.
He’d plop an extra large, extra heavy helmet on my head, complete with the chinstrap, microphone and radio, and we’d take off into the day. That is after I made sure to wave bye to all my friends as they moaned and groaned.
On the way home, we’d always use the microphones to talk to each other. He’d ask me how my day was and tell me plenty of jokes to make me laugh – but I was always careful to keep my head up straight. Didn’t want to lose balance and topple over the side.
On the occasion when my mom didn’t let me or didn’t give me, I could always count on my pops to spoil me. I guess that’s why I am the way I am. I almost feel sorry for whatever guy thinks he wants to marry me because my daddy sure did spoil me a lot.
Anyway, I got a lot from my dad. Beside from his cheeks, I inherited his fingers, modesty, sense of humor and calm attitude.
Ever saw those commercials where you could get a text message full of jokes? Well, my dad is a walking joke book. If there’s a crowd, he’s there to entertain. Which is why most of my friends like hanging out with my parents rather than me sometimes.
It also takes a lot to get my dad mad. Come to think of it, I don’t remember him ever really getting mad – and I don’t want too. I think that’s why I have a threshold for so much before I blow up. Which is good, since I deal with angry, hostile, unsociable people on more than occasional basis.
My dad is giving, kind, peaceful, attentive, and great, but he does have those moments where things need to be repeated. Hey, he’s only human.
When I need something, I can always count on my papadew to try his darndest to get it done.
That’s why his name his papadew, because he gets things done. However, that’s not the reason why I love him.
He was always a positive role model for my brothers and me. When my mom stopped working years ago, my dad put in the hours to take care of us and never complained.
I’ve never seen him disrespect any family member family, any of his friends, or any one for that matter.
I can only hope that whomever I marry is half the man my papadew is.