Daddy | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Daddy | Previous Challenge Entry
By Lynn Radford
02/04/10
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When I was a young girl, my father worked a somewhat non-traditional work week. He worked in retail sales, and many days I did not even see him, as he was gone before I went to school or came home late at night, after I was already in bed and asleep. For a little girl who loved her daddy and thought he hung the moon just for her, it was hard to comprehend that work took priority.

Sundays and Thursdays were his two days off. I hated that he had off when I was in school, but Thursday afternoons when I came home, he would help with homework, draw with me or play games. The bad part was that I had to share this time with my little brother. At age three, he was too young to play and draw the way we did and was usually clamoring for my father’s attention in a loud manner that ruined our precious time together. I resented his interference.

Sunday mornings were my favorite! I’d wake up long before my baby brother and scamper into my parent’s bedroom where I’d bound onto the bed with such force as to bounce my parents awake.

“Grrr!” I’d say with my arms poised in the air, trying with all of my might to look fierce.

“Where’s that snuggle bear?” Dad would tease.

Mom would get up to make coffee and begin her day, thankful to escape the torture of the bouncing and I would snuggle up with Daddy while he’d tell jokes and silly stories, each one intended to illicit waves of giggles from me. It was there I deemed him Salt and Pepper Face, where I heard tall tales about his time in the service, where I was tickled into fits of laughter so hard that I nearly stopped breathing and where I knew more than anywhere else, that I was Daddy’s little girl. It was there that I had his undivided attention until either the bathroom or my mother called.

My kindergarten had been spent in a public school. First grade was my introduction to Catholic school, where I learned that Sundays were also meant for church. Congregations of believers routinely came together to rejoice in the presence of their Father. I was amazed! I’d been to church before, but not regularly. This was my first glimpse of what, for others, was as ordinary as eating. Through a child’s eyes, I witnessed people coming together to sing and pray with their Daddy! What could be better?

It wasn’t long before I was grown up, no longer a small child, no longer innocent and naïve of the world around me. My parents grew steadily older, and I married, starting my own family. My Daddy eventually passed away.

Recently, when I thought back to those Sunday mornings of years ago, I discovered how much I missed the carefree playfulness that came from being Daddy’s Girl. That led me to a greater understanding of my childlike view of church. There, in my Father’s house, I can worship Him with carefree abandon. In His presence I am a child once again. Now, as then, I treasure those Sunday mornings with Daddy as I came to treasure my time with my Heavenly Father.

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