daddy's little girl

Most girls are called princess, sweetheart, darling or some other femininely affectionate name. He always called me Pumpkin. I know, it doesn’t really seem like a very fitting name for a petite little blond hair, blue-eyed girl who was born on Easter, but that’s what I was. I was his Pumpkin.


From what seems like the very beginning, I was Daddy’s little girl. Don’t get me wrong: If I was hurt, sick, sad, or in need…I wanted my mommy. She was the caretaker, comforter, and person who made the world just right…but I was still Daddy’s little girl.

Maybe every girl who has a decent father feels this way, but I can remember from a very young age feeling as if I was his prize, his joy, the object of his affection and the capturer of his attention. He was the one that carried me on his shoulders. He was the one that let me model all of my new outfits. He was the one that I believed when he told me I was beautiful, smart, funny, and talented….somehow, it seemed that he got me in a way no one else did… and that connected us.

If you know me now, you know that I am sarcastic, cynical, comically animated, LOUD, and quite demanding. I wasn’t much different as a child. I was the “entertainer”. I said/did things as a small child that most fathers would probably cringe at. My Daddy took it all in stride, usually laughing at how witty I was for my age. Here are a few early examples I either remember or have been retold to me…

     • When I was 2 or 3, our dog died in the backyard. So that my brother and I didn’t really have to see or deal with it, my Dad very lovingly put the dog in a black trash bag, called someone to pick it up, and put it out front. This was traumatic for all of us. I, however, would go around telling everyone that my Daddy had put my dog in a trash bag and thrown it away. People were appalled…His response – he gave me the nickname “Jabberjaws” because my jaws were always jabbering about something.

    • We got a new dog. My Mom and I picked it up and were going to “surprise” my dad and brother with it when they got home from work and school. Of course, my parents had already talked about it and Dad had agreed to it but I didn’t know that. He comes home and I run to greet him with this tiny puppy in my arms. In an attempt to “kid” with me, he acted like he didn’t want the dog and that we needed to get in the car to take the dog back. As the story is told, I gently set the puppy at my feet, looked up at him with my loving blue eyes and said, “I’ll get your gun and shoot you.” His response – laughter and jokes about the hierarchy of importance in my life. We had that dog for 14 years.

    • He was watching TV but I wanted him to watch my cartwheel or listen to me or something. With all the sass a 4 year old can muster, I walked over, turned the TV off, put my hand on my hip, looked him square in the eye and said, “I said LISTEN.”…and he did

The stories go on and on…during my teen years, some of them weren’t so funny, but my dad’s response never varied too much.

He has always provided for my needs (and taught me the difference between a need and a want). He has always delighted in my accomplishments (and helped pick me up when I failed). He has always encouraged me to do more or go further (even when I expected little of myself). He has always helped teach me how to do the things he wants me to do (and then worked beside me as I try). He has always disciplined me with love (and not held an account of my bad behavior). He has always found the good in me (even when there wasn’t much good to be found). He has always embraced my personality (even though it can be obnoxious and critical at times). He has always found the humor in my antics (even though they can be annoying and inconvenient). He has always made me feel valued and valuable (even when I didn’t value myself). He has always been there (even when I pushed him away).

Although my Daddy is far from perfect, there are things that I have learned about my heavenly Father because of my earthly father. I don’t think he set out to “teach” me these things…but he did…and I have learned that all the things I love and appreciate about my Daddy are mere shadows of the abundant love of MY FATHER.

I will always be Daddy’s girl…but in the process of becoming not me, I am learning to embrace my role as my heavenly DADDY’s girl just as much…