When our daughter has something on her mind, something making her sad or confused, 7 out of 10 times she’ll go to her papa. No one can hug her and hold her in those big arms like her daddy.
All like her dad, our Margaret, keeps her feelings close to her sleeve, loves sweets in the morning, plays defender on the soccer field with a demanding presence. She farts like her dad too. Poor thing. Middle of the night I’ll hear a sound through the walls coming from her bedroom, then without skipping a bit, next to me, I’ll hear my husband. Both still sleeping. Same sound.
When I tell them in the morning, my hubby smiles big, That’s my girl. Margaret giggles with a secret joy that she shares yet another thing with her papa.
They say when a child is around six or seven they start to emulate, watch even closer and cling more to the parent of the same sex. Our son will be seven next week and although our Simon is a mama’s boy, lately watching and playing sports with dad is more appealing than being with mom. Margaret, edging closer and closer to age 10, still prefers papa.
Even with a mentally ill father who didn’t work past my turning 4 years old and it was my mom who raised me as a single parent most of my growing up years, it was daddy I wanted. Those big arms can hold and protect like no other.
There is all this scientific reasoning out there why girls put their daddy’s on a pedestal. I haven’t read it. I just know that nothing makes me happier than seeing my little girl beaming as she holds her daddy’s hand, kicks the soccer ball with him or rips one through the wall…just like her daddy.
by J.G. McGlothern