My Dad My Hero

My Dad My Hero. There is nothing that man cannot do.

He painted my nails once when I was really little. It’s a moment forever engraved in my head. It could quite possibly also be the only time he painted my nails.

If you know my dad, you’ll know that nails are not his specialty.

Here’s what is and has always been his specialty: acting as a silent hero.

A hero by definition usually receives a lot of praise and accolades. My dad has not…..not for being my dad.

My Dad My Hero

He was my hero when he painted my nails.

He was my hero when he took me fishing on the Snake Trail crick.

He was my hero when he built our house on the hill.

He was my hero when he dumped his monkey-jar full of pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters and dollars on the table saying, “Now we’re going to California to visit Aunt Pat, Uncle Joe, Laura, Ben, Audra, and Disneyland.”

He was my hero when he came to every choir concert, gymnastics meet and hockey game.

He was my hero when he let me have parties at our house in high school; never screamed the way Mom did when they came home early:)

He was my hero when he went to work – outside – in 30 below weather, followed by going to work – outside – in 110 plus heat weather.

He was my hero when he didn’t let me feel sorry for myself; moan and cry around the house after my Tonsillectomy. (Though it should be stated that he was not my hero in that moment.)

He was my hero after every heartbreak with foolish boys; I knew I just had not found someone like my dad yet.

He was my hero when he was the only one to truly show and tell me how he felt about the culmination of my ugly dieting past.

He was my hero when he walked me down the aisle.

: Wedding Aisle with Dad

He was my hero when he stood up with my Father-in-Law at our wedding when my Father-in-Law spoke. (Again, if you know my dad –> the last thing he would ever want to do.)