My father can be both a hero, and a villian. In the same breath as he takes so much joy from winding me up to the degree of screeching hyena, he also would go to great lengths to ensure that I am safe. He loves to remind me of my many flawed traits, while he quietly appreciates my positive aspects. The child he once perceived me to be, can now stand before him as a grown woman. No longer simply a daughter, but a wife and a mother.

For many years, I assumed the lack of outward expression of pride or love was a sign of it’s nonexistence. Little did I know, that a father’s love is beyond measure. That despite my blatant disregard for the years of self sacrifice and extreme lengths reached for to provide, he will always have my best interests at heart. That even through miscommunication, misinterpretation and misunderstanding, his intentions remain as purely good as they ever were. Although I’m sure he has inwardly relished some “I told you so” moments over the years.

There have been countless times through my youth and into adulthood where he has seen fit to actively “teach me a lesson” or, in other words, present consequences where he deemed the natural progression of which to be insufficient to drive home the magnitude of many a foolish decision. Though there have been just as many times where we have failed to understand eachother, what has become clear to me is every action has been born from a desire to guide and assist. To help shape me into who I am today. I couldn’t even begin to explain just how many times I have proceeded to find out the hard way what he was simply trying to save me from going through. He may not be perfect, but the older I get, the more our bond strengthens. The more I understand upon reflection. And the more I appreciate what I once resented.

I owe my father a great deal, and I now recognise just how fortunate I am.


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