Daddy's Little Princess

"It was my father who taught me to value myself.
He told me that I was uncommonly beautiful
and that I was the most precious thing
in his life."
- Dawn French

    I remember as a little girl, getting dressed up on Sunday mornings before church and going into my parents' bedroom to model my Sunday best. "Daddy, am I pretty?" I'd ask and he would respond by saying, "Yes, you're beautiful." Daddy never failed to remind me that I was beautiful. 

     I often tell the story of how many times Daddy made me go back upstairs and change my outfit. As a little girl, it was probably because my t-shirt didn't match my pants. But as I got in my middle school years, it was because that tank top wasn't appropriate for the school dance. I would argue that all the other girls could wear the famous spaghetti straps of the nineties, so why couldn't I. The infamous, "because I said so, " would be said and I'd march up the stairs to change into a t-shirt. In High School, it might have been because my shorts or dresses were too short or tight. One time I made the snarky remark that I'd just dress like a nun and he'd be happy. Of course, his remark back was to say, well yeah. By my Junior year of High School, however, I was learning to be grateful for those times that Daddio made me march up the stairs and "put more clothes on." All those times I thought Dad was against me (and the latest fads), He was actually for me. He was reminding me, without saying it, of what true beauty is. True beauty was not showing skin and curves. Beauty was my brain. Beauty was my gift of words. Beauty was my personality. Beauty was my kindness, my smile, my love. Beauty was not showing off my body. Beauty was loving others and loving myself. Wait...beauty was? No. Beauty still is.

     This past weekend we celebrated Father's Day. I've often questioned why we call it Father's day....why so formal? I, just like many people, have never really called my Father, Father. I've called him Dad, Daddy and Daddio. So why not Dad's Day? And also, where did the title Dad even come from? It obviously denotes a closer relationship between child and father, which is pretty cool. At Mass on Sunday, I was contemplating all these things when we started to sing Abba, Father. That's when I remembered one of my grade school teachers telling me that Abba actually meant Daddy and not Father. This means, if we called God, Abba and not Father, we are actually acknowledging a closer relationship with Him. But is this really true? How many do not have a healthy, close relationship with God? Why are we stuck in a generation that continuously calls God, Father, when we could be calling Him, Daddy? 

     My family often jokes that my own Daddio set the bar so high that the only man who could ever go above and beyond that bar is Jesus, which is why I have to marry Him. Of course, I know some very wholesome young men in my life and I know for sure, that they will "grow up" to be wonderful Dads like my own Daddy. My Dad not only set the bar high, however, he allowed me to know, see, and understand God. I hope all those young men in my life do the same for their daughters and their sons. 

     Dads are meant to be the earthly example of God the Father. My Dad has taught me not only about my beauty and personal value as a young woman, but he has done so much. My Dad has given me an appreciation for nature. He has shown me the happiness that can come from simply sitting near the water, may it be ocean, river or lake. He has shown me the beauty of the sunsets and sunrises. He has shown me the respect and love I deserve. He has shown me that everything around me is a gift. He has shown me the value of true, lifelong friendship (because all my crazy "uncles" are my dad's best friends from when he was a wee little tot). He has shown me the dazzlement that can come from simplicity. He has shown me that all the good things in life come without a price tag. It's the truth. By my Dad being such a good Dad, he has shown me God. It kind of goes like this:

      God made all of the wondrous nature around us, for us. It was as if He wanted to give us a beautiful gift and He made the trees, the water, the land for  us to be happy. God made us as His children to be loved, adored and respected by everyone. He also made us to love, adore and respect our fellow brothers and sisters. Because He made is and we deserve it. God made us for friendship with others and with his Son...for life. God has given us so much so as to dazzle us with the beauty that surrounds us. God has given me a love so deep that shows me that I'm beautiful. My Daddio has helped me realize all of this about God. However, this is not the same for many people. 

     I have developed a theory that the reason we do not call God, Dad, is that many in today's society do not have the same relationship I have with my Daddy. On Father's day, social media explodes with devotions to Dads around the world, but I wonder how many young women have been told, from a very young age, that they were beautiful? Many in today's society do not know the feeling of having a Dad, a Daddy or a Daddio. Many do not even know the feeling of having a Father. Of course, many psychologists have said that women who do not have a good relationship with their Fathers wind up in bad relationships with men because they do not know what to look for. Dads must set the bar high. (I'll get back to this). However, I think there is something else going on here. Rarely do we hear God referred to as Dad. It is hard to develop a relationship with He who we cannot see, yes? Yes. In today's day and age, our generations and the generations below us are suffering from a Fatherlessness that many before us do not know. If our generations cannot trust or confide in or even speak with the physical fathers in life, than how can we even imagine developing a relationship with God, the Father who we cannot see? That's the confusion today. My prayer is that all those wholesome young men in my life go on to be the Daddy's their children need so they can know God. 

      My Daddy has taught me, from a very young age, that I am a beautiful young princess. He has shown me my value and beauty as a young woman. He has shown me that God loves me, regardless of what I might do wrong. Because at the end of the day, if I made a mistake, my Daddy is still going to love me. Just like God. I've been blessed with such a great Dad. By his being such a strong man, he has shown me how to be a strong and faith-filled young woman. So, while I may not call God, Dad, Daddy, or even Daddio, (I think I can go for a Pops), I know that He is more than just a Father for me. God is my Abba and I can thank my Dad for helping me realize that. Of course, I think it's every little girl's dream to make her Daddy proud. So, one day I hope I can because I know I sure am proud to be his and His daughter. My final remark is this: My Daddy, while being a great one, has always been a Dad to so many of my friends. Sometimes, my friends even call my Daddy, Dad. You know what? That makes me happy, too. Because God just isn't my Pops, He's yours, too. 

The Men Who Can't Be Moved - Part Two of A Three Part Series

"Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure what from."

- Mae West

     If you are reading this sentence and have not read Part One of this Three Part Series, go back, read it. Trust me, it will make this blog post (and the next one) make so much more sense! But just in case you only have time for one blog post, I'll give you a little background as to what I'm doing here. Thursday night in my Christian Marriage and Family class, we were sent out on a mission: ask the first five people you meet three questions. Those three questions: what is femininity in three words? what is masculinity in three words? and what is marriage in one sentence? So, we went around and questioned people from our professors to the nunnies to random students and what a wide variety of answers we collected. This later prompted me to question what my views on femininity, masculinity and marriage are. So, Part One described my views on femininity. This, Part Two, will take you on an adventure of a lifetime: me, a woman, trying to explain, masculinity. Are you ready? Let's see how much I know!

     He was my first kiss, my first love, my first friend: my Daddy. I saw this quotation on Pinterest (that place is actually extremely addicting....) and fell in love with it! How true! I also saw one that went sort of this like: be the man you'd want your daughter to marry. My Daddy is the number one full embodiment of those two quotations. I was always Daddy's Little Girl and I still am. Daddy taught me everything from how to ride a bike to how to fish to how to work a pony tail (not by example, of course) and of course, how to pray. I have distinct memories of riding in the back seat of the bike down to the marina just to feed the geese bread. Of course, there was also that time Daddy bought me a pink fishy rod kit complete with a target that you laid down in the grass and tried to hit with the hook; we would throw the line off the back deck. And I can remember tons of painful, laborious moments when Daddy tried to pull my CURLY hair into a ponytail; well, I still work it today! And how to pray: well, one night I was all dressed up in a beautiful dress and for some reason had on my white gloves (every little girl was in love with those). He was sitting on the couch, tying his church shoe when I came over and asked him how to fold my hands to pray. He stretched my hands open and then pushed them together saying, "Hands folded in prayer always point up to Jesus." 

     As I got older, he'd bandage up my knee when I skinned it falling off my bike trying to ride right over a giant pothole (this happened more than once because I thought I was...invincible). He'd let me stir the pot before dinner as long as I didn't eat it (which stunk...). He'd sometimes drop me off at school in the morning and as I'd exit the truck (the BIG truck), he'd shout after me, "Make good decisions!" Then, eventually he'd let me DRIVE THE TRUCK. Of course, there were plenty of times when he'd pick me up from my dates with my boyfriends, movie dates with my girl friends, walk in the park with me. But the thing he did the most and still does the most that I absolutely love, is when he drops me off at the convent...and then stays a little while just to chat with my sisters. It's just like those scenarios when the boy is picking up the girl and while the girl is still upstairs getting ready, Daddy is just casually shining the barrel of his shotgun. Except, he was sitting in the community room, laughing and telling story after story to the sisters (yeah..I get the story telling from my Daddy). That's when the convent feels like home; when I know my Daddy is proud and comfortable knowing that this is my life.

     Every since I was young, however, my Daddy, by the little things he did, protected me (and my sisters and mother) as his most important cherished people. I remember asking him once after work, if he'd have rather had us be boys not girls. Because, you know, every child thinks when they are young that Daddies want sons and Mommies want daughters. He said, "No. I love my princesses." Daddy did and still does all he can do to show us the simple happiness, the happiness that most of mankind can't find. One because they don't have my Daddy but two because they are so filled with ideas that happiness lies in money. It's the happiness that comes from road trips and long bike rides. Because even if we're not really doing anything like taking vacations in Cancun or buying a sailboat, he still makes us feel loved by his laborious sandwich making before an adventure or long nights spent planning the perfect day or the laughter that can be heard from miles away. My Daddy has proven to me that in order to be loved, one must sacrifice for his loved one.

     My Daddy is no body builder, that's for sure. He's no business who wears a suit a tie every day. He's no gourmet chef (although, he probably could be). We don't live in a huge house, actually we're all smushed together in three bedrooms. We don't have luxurious cars, although I'd beg to differ; the mom van is stylin'. We don't have a vacation house in the south of France. Nope, we have each other. And we are happy. My Daddy may not "provide" like so many think a man should which fancy dinners and fancy cars and fancy houses, but rather, he provides his daughters and his wife with an irreplaceable love. He gives us the time of day to listen when we're upset, he watches us struggle for a little bit before stepping in to help, just to prove that we each need to struggle first before learning that we need another person, and he shows us that happiness in the littlest of ideas is the best happiness.

     Because of my Daddy, I have become a thick skinned, raging feminist. Okay, not really. I'm a feminist in the sense that I know I am a woman, I am proud of being a woman, and I know what being a woman entails (we disgusted this in Part One!). My Daddy has taught me that being a woman, embodying God's love, demands the utmost respect from all. That is, a woman should be listened to and heard as an equal, not talked down to, not shouted at, and not, be any means, degraded. And so, I have always been a very strong advocate for woman's respect. Have you ever seen the phrase, do not walk ahead, I may not follow, do not walk behind, I may not lead, but instead, walk beside me so as to grow together? That is what my Daddy has essentially taught me about human interaction. While I am fully aware that in many situations like work and school, there are authoritative positions, that does not give anyone the right to disrespect someone who may not be in as high a position. We are all human beings to be treated by other human beings with the same love and care that we, ourselves, demand and desire. All this from my Daddy...woah. 

     Disclaimer: This paragraph is hard for me to write and may be hard for you to read. One night, I was driving with my sisters after having a horrendous argument with my best guy friend. I can still remember that moment with such clarity as it truly was the moment, I knew I had become a woman in all her strengths. Throughout the "conversation" I kept my voice calm, cool and collective, and asked for the possibility of discussing the matter in a more adult time and place. But, there was no backing down. The worst thing for me was to have my little sisters right behind me, almost as if I was shielding them, and listening to the entire "conversation." With every sentence, his voice got louder and louder until finally, I was being yelled at and accused of many falsehoods. I simply, nodded my head, and told him, that I was going to give the conversation a chance, but that was until I realized he disrespected me so much that he would raise his voice at me. Never in his whole life has my Daddy ever raised his voice at my mother. Never. So, immediately, I knew that it was wrong, that is, what was happening to me. I took both my sisters by the hand and walked out the door that night and the first thing I said to my sisters, "Don't ever get involved with a guy who doesn't respect you as much as Daddy taught us a man should. Don't ever get involved with someone who isn't just like Daddy." Of course, my older little sister said, "So....he has to be hairy?" 

      My Daddy has taught me that as a woman to demand respect while still being respectful. He has taught me how to provide for myself but that when a man who loves me enough comes around, to let him provide for me (cooking is NOT women's work....). He has taught me how to be strong, but to let my womanly emotions be the back bone to that strength. He has taught me how to struggle and depend on others because as much as I may know, I am always learning and I will always need others to depend on. My Daddy has taught me all about what it means to be a woman by being the utmost number one example of what it means to be a man. He has provided for me my whole life and will always do so. He has protected my heart, soul and body. He has been the man I need. 

     Of course, this means that any man who wants to try their hand at winning of my heart has HUGE standards to live up to. Let's be honest, if I have to teach you that opening a door for women, old people and children is respectful, forget about trying. I know that may sound harsh, but my Daddy taught me what to look for in a man. And I guess that's why Jesus won my heart over. The only thing that Jesus did that my Daddy hasn't done or can't ever do is....go to Hell and back for me. My Daddy could and would give his life for me and my sisters and mother if he needed to, just like Jesus. But Jesus, when He gave His life for me, traveled the ends of the earth, to Hell and then back again. So yeah...Jesus won my heart over because He's just like my Daddy. Or is it, my Daddy won my heart over because he's just like Jesus. Well...after all is said in done, and you have just read an entire blog post of me bragging about my Daddy, I can sum up masculinity in three words: My Daddy's Love!

Always A Daddy's Girl

"A Daddy holds pictures of his daughters in his wallet 

where his money used to be."

"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived and let me watch him do it."

-Clarence Budington Kelland

     This morning's Gospel was about Jesus telling the little ones to come to Him. Our homilist today spoke about how God loves when we act as children (not childish...) because children are so easy to love. In listening to the Gospel, I reflected back to a question sparked in one of my Theology classes my Freshmen year of College. Sister asked the class to imagine God as Daddy...not Father, but Daddy. She told us to imagine what He would look like, smell like, feel like, act like. I remember sharing with the class that my God as "Daddy" had a bristly beard and sat on the sofa after a long day of work. He would smell like oil and machinery, and wear a dark, plaid shirt that was soft from wear. He would probably have some stains on his pants, too, from work. But the best part of my God as "Daddy" was curling up on his lap and sticking my head in the crook of his neck while we napped and watched the news before dinner. I felt safe there and protected; nothing was going to hurt me. In response, Sister said, "Well that description is so good, either because you're an English major OR you've had that experience." Without realizing it, I had described a typical day with my earthly Daddy when I was younger. Yes my God as "Daddy" was exactly like my earthly Daddy. Which totally explains why I've always been a "Daddy's Girl" in both ways. 

       Last week, my daddy took off from work to spend a week's vacation with his three "little" girls. Every morning, after I would come home from Mass, we'd take off, headed for a new adventure. Whether we were going to Roadside America in the middle of no where Pennsylvania or traipsing through North Philadelphia just to find the "World's Largest Cellophaned  Piece of Apple Pie," it was a new adventure. My dad was always one to "wander." He has a gypsy soul and always had dream of sailing around the world, navigating by the stars. I love that about him. I guess that's where I get my desire for adventure and my own gypsy soul. I get my deep faith from my daddy, and my undying, obnoxious and rambunctious laughter from him, too. I get my quiet peace (occasionally) from him but what I really get from him, is his simplicity.

       "You're like a Sunday morning, full of grace and full of Jesus. I wish I could be more like you," I wish I could say to him, because it's true. He's the most humble man I know, and the most selfless. (I knew I was going to cry while writing this....) If anyone asks me about my daddy, I instantly go off talking about how much I love him. I talk about how is my best friend, and that without him, I don't know where I would be. I really do love my daddy so much because of all he selflessly does for me. He works twelve hours a day, five days a week just so he can put me and my sisters through CATHOLIC school. He comes home from those twelve hour shifts and cooks dinner for us kids. He drives out to school just to see me on a Sunday night at Mass. He'll mail me stupid things on crazy holidays just so I get mail (because I love mail). He does everything for me and so much more. I cry when I think of his humility, his simplicity and his gentleness. I love my daddy so much.

        This post can never do my dad any justice, but he is my biggest hero. I love him with all my heart. I want him to be there to walk me down the aisle when I make vows. I want him to bake my vow cake. I want him to dance with me at the after party I'm planning. I want him to be with me everywhere I go. And my deepest prayer is that he grows to be really, really, really, really old so I never have to let him go. I love you, Daddy. I can't thank you enough for everything, the sacrifices, the laughter, the love and the faith. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful Daddy.