So there’s this thing called being a Daddy’s girl. I had that covered when I was little. If stories are to be believed, I used to say “Mami has own couch!” when she tried to join us in the living room. I worshipped my Daddy as if he was a god, and I had reasons. When we were little, we had to go to Kindergarten (daycare in Germany) because our parents both worked, and it wasn’t our grandparents’ job to raise us. My favorite days were the ones we skipped with Craigy (we call him by his first name because our parents used to think it was cute, and we liked to hear them laugh. Also, my mom hates it when parents call each other mom and dad. It makes her think of the gross southern songs where you say “Mommah” to the girl you’re about to take home…. ew ew ew. FREUD MUCH)
So, Craigy would show up randomly when his irregular nursing schedule gave him a day off in the middle of the week, and take us out. If we didn’t even show up at Kindergarten, all the ladies that worked there knew that Herr Dancer had a day off. We would take the train to the city and play on playgrounds. It was the best. We climbed up those big spider-looking things made of red rope, ran across wooden castles with lots of ladders, and let him push us on swings. Sometimes I think he enjoyed it even more than we did, which is one of the things that made him such a great father. We’d play like crazy people and he’d tell us fun stories and make us laugh. I challenge anyone to show me a Dad that played quite as well as my Craigy.
After the playground, he’d sometimes take us to Mami’s work so we could play with staplers and listen to adult conversations for a few minutes. It’s great to have parents that are so in love that they visit each other at lunch 😀 Like, “Hey, Schootie, I wanted to see you. Look, I brought the kids. Why don’t you tell Mami what we did today, sweetie!”
I love my dad for so many reasons, one of them being that he even survived being in Germany to make us happy. He was sooo homesick those last years. Spending 10 years in Germany so that your kids can have a better childhood by living super close to their grandparents while you get a cheaper education to have more money to spend on them is a challenge that not many would conquer. Let’s keep in mind that my father started his education as a nurse in Germany without speaking the language. He graduated with super grades and did a fantastic job once he did begin to work.
The only person that ever spoke English to us in Germany was our dad. He gave us little workbooks to make sure we could spell, and he read Harry Potter to us. He even did the voices. Hermione was girly, Hagrid had a deep voice, and, I swear that every single person had a unique voice and he always remembered how everyone spoke.
I love my father because the most important thing to him is that we are happy and protected. I love him because he didn’t go crazy on the outside when I said I was going to college in Harlem. He worries so much about his two girls, but he lets us experience life. He doesn’t tell us what we need to do or where we need to go. Obviously, he’d like to lock me in my room until I’m 35 so that I can’t come across the evil of the world or do anything that he doesn’t approve of. Thanks to his immense willpower, he doesn’t show that side of him. Like every good dad of daughters, he attempts to control those overprotective emotions. He’s great because he succeeds so well.
Not every dad has to deal with a daughter like me. I’m exactly like him, so everything that we have in common annoys me about him and vice-versa. He was in the army at my age… well, I want to go into the Peace Corps. Instead of telling me I’m completely insane for wanting to be shot and killed by maniacs and drug-dealers in some horrible third-world country (like he wants to), he goes for a little “you have to be careful.” I’m sure he expects the worst of this situation because his little girl is going to be in a very dangerous place, surrounded by poverty. However, he respects that I want to go from the big city (where he didn’t want me to be) straight to Colombia or China or someplace where they might need my help.
I love my daddy so much because he’s a smart, inventive, creative, klugscheiß-ing (yay Germenglish), interesting, hardworking, loving, strong person. I love him so much because, as my grandma says, I’m 3/4 American and 1/4 German. I think she’s wrong. I’m obviously half and half, but I am definitely 3/4 my dad and 1/4 my mom, if any numbers can be used for such a thing. Basically everything good and everything bad that I genetically have in my personality is from him. I am my Daddy in girl form. Yes, my mother had a great impact on who I am, especially because teenage Julie stopped being a daddy’s girl. However, as I get older and become something resembling an adult, their positions are evening out once more. I often feel again like a Daddy’s girl, and I have to say I missed him terribly when I was in Spain. My Daddy is a great man, and he makes me feel happy and safe and taken care of. My Daddy is epic and I love him, and I hope his father’s day is great. I hope his life is great. He worked hard to have everything that he has, and to give us a wonderful childhood. I bet he’d still come jump around on a playground with me if I asked him right now… Actually, I’ll be right back.. 😉
Jk we’re going to watch Germany beat the crap out of Denmark now
Much Love (especially to my daddy and all the dads out there this fine father’s day),
P.S. Did I mention that my dad is better than your dad? Cuz he is. Arguing is futile. <3