I have the best Daddy in the world. No really. I do. You can try to compete all you want and I'm sure you all have wonderful and spectacular fathers but really - mine's the best.
I can't remember a time that I ever felt like my Daddy didn't treat me with the upmost respect...even at times that I'm sure it was tempting to respond to a 12 year old's "I'm TOO STRESSED DADDY!" retort with something indicating that the trauma of a tween was so much simpler than his day at the office, building a house, and dealing with everything else Daddy was required to handle. There wasn't a goal or achievement I would have in mind for which Daddy wouldn't seemingly drop everything to help me achieve - and then celebrate upon accomplishment. To this day, if I need advice, want to set a new goal, have something to celebrate or need absolutely anything, I know who is getting a phone call or email.
And yes, I'm 25 and still refer to him as Daddy. Should tell you something about our relationship.
My high school cross country career was a great example of our bond. I wasn't a runner before my freshman year. Despite repeatedly being recruited by the high school coach to run, I hated the idea. After a turn of events I ended up joining the team with no intention of making it my main sport. (After countless 5Ks, 10Ks, and a couple half and full marathons, its strange to type that...but anyway) Daddy's not a runner either but if I was going to take on this adventure, I was going to be prepared and he'd be sure that I was. I was soon subscribed to Runner's World magazine, we were doing wet footprints on the driveway to help pick the right shoes, I soon had training shoes, race flats...and the next season, race spikes... picked after hours of research and investigation. Most of which done by Daddy. At races, he was the only one I could really hear admist the crowd and cheering. Don't get me wrong - I love having family and friends at all of my events but it was Daddy's talking - not yelling or screaming - at me that broke through my "race zone" and tell me my time, my pace, and how many spots out of medal position I was. The first medal I ever won was completely due to him. As I headed into the file half mile of my race, there was Daddy talking to me from the course: "That girl in front of you has your medal. Go get it.". With the way this race was being scored, neither of us knew how right he was. I got the last medal for my division in that race as I passed the girl who Daddy told me had my medal. He couldn't have been more proud.
I didn't really realize our bond though until I left for college. I was heading to my parents' alma mater to follow in Daddy's footsteps - mechanical engineering. I should make it clear that despite being a Daddy's girl, I did not get away with everything. He treated me as a responsible adult because he expected me to act as such. He had higher expectations for me than just about anyone else. He pushed me past my limit and then some in nearly every aspect but always in a loving and supportive way. So I knew that heading off to school, the bar was high and I would do everything I could to make my family - especially Daddy - proud. He reminded me that he knew where the libraries were, that even though I should have fun I should hit the books and - oh yeah, I was far more prepared for this than he was and he got through with honors. No pressure :-) A couple months later he was heading my way for a business trip and called about an hour into his drive to ask if I'd like seafood instead of dorm food for dinner. No brainer. About 10 minutes later, Mom called to check in, see if Daddy had called and ask if I needed anything from home. "No but Daddy's already on his way - why are you asking now?" I didn't need Mom to point it out to realize that if, in fact, I had needed something, Daddy would have turned around to pick it up for me or acquire it along the way. Yup. I'm a Daddy's girl. When I joined the Formula SAE team in college, he made it a point to meet me at the shop each time through town, taking time to meet the guys on the team (most of whom he remembers by name - a big deal considering the number of my friends he has met!), look at the car, give his design advice and then take me out to dinner. During competition, he and mom helped coordinate and cookout food for the team to make sure we didn't go without nurishment. I was beaming the whole time and so honored to be sharing a hobby with him that he had shared so passionately with his father - racing.
I definitely don't want this to sound like my relationship with anyone else in my family is any less important to me. I have a very special relationship with every member of my immediate and extended family. But there's something special between my Daddy and me.
The picture below is a special moment that I'm so glad was captured on film. I ran my second marathon in Chicago in 2008 as a member of Team in Training. After months of fundraising, training and preparing (and countless phone calls with Daddy to talk race strategy!), race day arrived. It was hot. I was nervous. It was a big day. My parents had asked me if I'd like them to be at the earlier or later TNT cheer station and I said I knew I'd need them at the later one. 18 miles later, I hit the wall. I was running with my training buddy and the heat was getting to both of us. We employed our run / walk strategy slightly disappointed as our first half went so wonderfully well. It was about that time that I looked at her and said "Only 5 miles til my parents and our Team cheer station". That helped both of us for a little while and each time I'd slow down, she'd remind me "less than 5 to your parents"...."4 miles to your mom and dad". As we turned the corner heading towards the cheer station and mile 23, I picked out my Daddy immediately. That was the fastest I ran the whole second half of the race (save our near sprint through the finish line!) and it was completely worth it. Mom had her usual race cowbell to encourage me and I summoned energy to smile and wave (at least that's what I was trying to do - I hope it came across that way!). Daddy greeted me with his usual quiet talk - like he had done all those years of cross country - and a half frozen water bottle wrapped in a cold, wet washcloth. I leaned against him as he asked how I was doing, what I needed, if I had any fuel / gels / twizzlers (my secret weapon in marathons!) and reminded me how very very close I was to the finish. "Just about a 5K. Com'on - you've done tons of those! And look at how far you've come already!" After a hug, I was on my way. I finished strong and with a smile on my face.
Thank you Daddy for time and time again reminding me I can do it and to look at how far I've come as a testament to how far I can go. Thanks to your love, support and undying confidence in my strength and ability I've learned how to stand up for myself, that I can be successful by always doing the right thing, how I should expect to be treated and that I should never accept anything less than my best. I love you.
