Today is my father’s birthday and today I wanted to take the time to share with you how much I love, admire, and respect him. I want to share with you why I am daddy’s little girl.
Daddy’s little girl…
I’m daddy’s little girl, of this I know is true.
I’m daddy’s little girl because he loves me too.
He tucked me in, held my hand, and soothed my broken heart.
He clapped with joy, bought me ice cream, and shared a little part.
I’m daddy’s little girl, as no man will ever do.
I’m daddy’s little girl, he is the man I compare every man to.
He’s caught me when I’ve fallen and dusted me off to take a new flight.
He’s helped me soar and fly to my destiny.
I’m daddy’s little girl and that is how it should be.
I love my daddy and he loves me.
I’m daddy’s little girl.
~by Denise Robbins for her father
Many of you know that my father, Keith Goodman, is my first round editor of all my books. He has endured every word, every scene (don’t forget I write romantic-suspense), both good and bad at least twice. He does it because I ask.
This is the same man I shared with you months ago who wrote a poem about me when I was about two years old and kept it. I think I get my writing ability from him.
I admire my father for his common sense, for his ability to take on anything and do it right, for his undying love even when I probably get on his nerves. I respect him for holding his own against an establishment and taking care of the folks who worked for him.
Ten years ago we had this tremendous surprise birthday party for dad and the number of people who came out to hug, kiss, and surprise him was overwhelming. Even a high school friend of mine flew in from overseas to see my father’s face when everyone showed up. This is a guy who for whatever reason became my father’s adopted son and has been since I was about 15 years old. At the party, I heard story after story of how great my father was. I’m here to tell you that I know this first hand.
My father is the person I turn to when I need to talk something through. He’s the first person I called when I got my first book published. Heck, I still call him whenever a book is bought or I get the book cover. He was here when I bought my house and helped me clear out all the Forsythia that had taken over the yard.
When I was a kid, dad was the one who helped me learn to ride my purple banana-seat bike. He was the one who introduced me to different books to read. Dad was the one who endured algebra with me. Let me tell you…that was not pretty. While both my parents went to all of my sporting events it was my dada who was on the field with me as coach and friend, and the person who would play with me in the yard when I couldn’t get the throw or the kick quire right.
Both my parents support me in everything I do and for this I am the luckiest girl in the world.
Happy birthday, Dad! Hugs and kisses and birthday wishes.