A few years ago, I found a poem entitled, “Fathers and Daughters” by an unknown poet. It seems a fitting tribute to the bond shared between a father and his daughter. In part the poem reads,
“
In his eyes, she will always be his little princess, the light of his life. In her eyes he will always be the brave knight who slayed the monsters in her closet, her hero, her protector.”
No little boy grows up praying to become the father of daughters. It’s not really the kind of life ambition that has a high priority. Yet somehow, once that bundle of pink is placed into his arms, the boy turned man, grows into the role.
The pinnacle moment for that role is when he walks his daughter down that long bridal aisle, handing his precious baby over to another.
My father has made that walk three times – in 1972, 1974 and 1999. I don’t know what Dad said to my sisters as he guided them to the strains of The Wedding March, but with me, his eldest daughter, he was making little jokes and comments. People mistook this for radiance on my part, but it was just a case of my dad totally cracking me up – as usual.
I count myself lucky to have my father as my dad. A father is the yardstick by which all other men are measured. In my Dad’s case, he has set the bar very high. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
With love,
Your Eldest Daughter
© 15 June 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder
