"DADDY" is the quality I most admire about my father. He is the epitome of the word when used in its sweetest form.
I am 61 and Dad is 81. I call him Dad, but I think of him as DADDY, like when I was a little girl. He can be impatient, stubborn as a mule, aggravating and a pain in the neck. BUT...he has always been patient when teaching me things. If someone offered to
buy him a steak for lunch, he'd turn it down because his wife and kids were eating beans and cornbread for lunch. If he was laid-off on a Friday, he was working at a new job by Monday. He taught by example to take pride in your work, whether you were a doctor or a ditch-digger, to walk tall whether you had money in the bank or lived hand-to-mouth, to put your family's needs above your own, and most of all, to have love and faith in God.
He and Mom were married 63 years when we lost Mom a year ago. She always said he wasn't romantic, but he'd walk in, take her face gently into his hands and kiss her, then tell her, "You sure are a pretty little heifer!" We were secure because we knew he loved our mother. We knew he loved us. He worked long hours, so we seldom saw him, but when he was home, life was GOOD!!! Life was FUN!!!
He never spanked us. Mom did, but he didn't. He talked to us. My sis and I would beg Mom to "please, spank us and don't tell Daddy! He'll TALK to us!" It always started out with, "You know your ol' daddy doesn't want to have to get onto you girls. It hurts me to have to do it, but...." And I'd be blubbering within half a minute, because I didn't want him to be sad over anything I'd done.
He just stopped by to bring me half of his watermelon! That's my daddy!!!