I’m what you’d call a “Daddy’s Girl.” Not only do I look like my dad, I walk like him and I even inherited his feet – adolescent bunion and all!
Growing up, my dad worked the night shift, so I spent more time with him than anyone else and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. The longer I live, the more I recognize how much I’ve been blessed by God to have a great dad, one that has always been there for me, and whom I respect and admire.
I wrote the following as a tribute to my dad, Mr. Clifton Brown.
Two little syllables that from the time I could pronounce them, have always had more meaning than simply, ‘father’.
From birth “Daddy” was the soothing, low hum of the one who comforted.
As a toddler “Daddy” was Superman, playtime and nursery rhymes sung in a tenor that serenaded my dreams.
In childhood, “Daddy” was bike rides, swimming lessons, a voice lifted earnestly in devotion to God on sleepy Sunday mornings when we woke for family prayer.
My adolescent “Daddy” meant no-nonsense, rule enforcer, exasperated sighs when he questioned the boy who dared to call. Adolescent “Daddy” was telling me I was worth something, before anyone could say otherwise.
College “Daddy” was patient, supportive, full of advice and encouragement. Would drive 2000 miles to help me move, watch me run, stand and clap as I walked across a stage and got a piece of paper he’d waited all my life to see.
Today, “Daddy” means the world to me.
A lingering presence that follows me like the strains of a song that were written to the score of my life.
Even when we are far apart when I look in the mirror he is there; in the shape of my eyes and the quickness of my smile and sometimes the low hum of my own song.
He is funny, strong, kind, resilient and adventurous.
He is the best man I’ve ever known.
Today I celebrate the man who not only fathered and raised me, but who showed me how to love God, people, song and sport.
33 years later and to this day, I am still wondering where he hides his cape.