Bruce and Em and ALL of Them: Just call me George Henry

There is something extra special about a relationship between a father and his daughter and that is certainly true about me and my dad. I have some of the fondest memories of my childhood spent with my dad. While many of my friends were learning to cook, bake, sew, or do other household chores with their mothers, I was hanging out with my dad. My mom tried to teach me those things, but I didn't want any part of them. Of course, now I wish I had paid better attention. Anyway, my father was quite a handyman and he was constantly tinkering around the house or taking on a new project. He was the kind of dad that spent time teaching me how to use tools, show me how to properly mow the grass, and how to safely climb ladders. Where ever my dad was, I was sure to be hanging on his hip. We would climb to the roof and clean the shingles or make repairs to the shingles. I helped him build his wooden shed. I got lots of practice with a hammer. I learned to paint. Many of our projects together resulted in him having to "fix" my work, but he never complained. He always had time to allow me to "help".

He used to tease me and say that he always wanted a son, so he affectionately called me George Henry. I was never insulted by this. I loved being his George Henry. I was such a tomboy growing up, although you would never know that now. I could climb trees, jump ramps with my bike, wrestle, and dig for worms with the best of the boys. My dad and I would play football in the yard. I realize now that he was gentle with me, but back then, I thought I was pretty tough.

When you're a little girl, your dad is your first hero. He may not wear that red cape, but you know deep in your heart that he is Superman. My dad could do no wrong. He was the strongest and most intelligent man I knew. But then I hit my teenage years and my sights left my dad and turned to silly BOYS! My rebellious streak presented itself, my stubbornness became forefront, and my dislike for my dad became obvious. He and I had some serious knock down, drag out fights when I was a teenager. I was such a brat. My dad's protectiveness, anger, disappointment, and fear became paramount. One night, in the winter, he caught me sneaking out of my window. He swiftly picked me up by the hair on my head and threw me into the swimming pool firmly shouting that I "...needed to cool off." These battles went on all through high school. Although we were at odds most of the time, he was still my protector. One night, coming home late from a date, I got spooked walking to the front door and let out a scream. My dad was out the front door in 2 seconds flat with his shotgun. Once he realized that a boogey may wasn't after me, he returned to bed. I thought he was simply crazy then, but now that's just one more reason that I love him. It wasn't until I hit my 20's that I began to appreciate my dad once again.

My dad grew up in a poor family. He joined the military at the earliest age he could and served over 20 years. After he retired, my dad spent the next few years working 2 jobs and going back to school. It was during this time that our family was financially tight. I don't remember this as my parents were so good to always make sure I had what I needed, even if they had to go without. One thing that my dad always told me was to "pay yourself first". Meaning, out of every paycheck, put something into savings. No matter how big or small, my dad always did this. Some months were tight and some months were not. We moved to Florida and my dad had the good fortune to work for a company where by the time he retired after 20 years, he was making a very comfortable living. My dad has always been frugal, careful, cautious, and mindful with his finances. But, he has always been especially generous with me. He provided my first car. He paid for college. He gave me a beautiful wedding. He is incredibly generous with his grandchildren.

It doesn't matter how old I get, my dad still wants to take care of his little girl. Until this week, our family vehicle was our red Honda Odyssey. I love that van. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that car. However, it was getting up in miles and age, there were a couple of small dings in the exterior, and the interior looked like a football team that had just practiced in the mud came running through it. But other than that, the van was fine. Beau and I had planned to keep it for another 2 or 3 years before we wanted to incur a car payment. We've enjoyed being car payment free for he last 3 years.

Dad may be sometimes gruff on the exterior, but nobody could ever say he was selfish. My dad may not want to talk about his emotions, but his actions speak loudly. Dad and I disagree on many points and he may be very vocal about his opinions, but he supports me. Last week, my dad GAVE Beau and I his 2011 Toyota Highlander with only 15, 000 miles. We were so very thankful for such a gift. God provides in many ways and through many people. We were completely unsuspecting of this gift, but we were completely excited.