he was just shy of 31.
tall, dark and handsome. i feel certain that i believed he hung the moon. i know without doubt he could slay dragons and fight the monsters that lurked under beds and behind closet doors.
saturdays were spent in the yard as he manicured the lawn like only he knew how. trips to the local dump were adventures for treasure. and i never missed the opportunity to ride in the back of his ol' yellow pick-up truck.
sundays were reserved for church. and time with family either on the farm in dovesville or napping under the ceiling fan in the den.
i remember weekends as a teenager, when sleeping late was the only thing on my agenda. he would crack the blinds ever-so-{not really}-discreetly, pounce on the bed, and sing as loud as he could.
rise and shine and give God the glory. glory.
{repeat, while obnoxiously bouncing & clapping}
funny how the things that annoyed you as a moody teenager become the fondest memories.
as the years would pass my love for him grew deeper and broader. it would span distance and cut across disagreements.
perhaps it was because i learned early that petty stuff never matters. or perhaps it was simply because he was my hero. my prince. my diddy.
he chaperoned my third grade field trip to the state house
he took me to my very first atlanta braves game
he bought home my very first bra {which is still not a fond memory because it didn't have the pink lil' bow}
he totally understood my obsession with pizza and ice cream
he woke me up the morning before my 16th birthday {just a day before my permit expired} and insisted that i go get my driver's license
he insisted i get a job where i could learn the value of a dollar
he never gave me everything i asked for, yet always gave me all i needed
he didn't take no for an answer and made me try something before i declared i didn't like it {he's still regretting the fried okra!}
he drove me all the way to our nation's capital and left me for five weeks so i could be a senate page
he taught me that everyone don't eat butterbeans and to grab my basket when the berries were ripe
he packed his jeep as tight as a tick to move me to Clemson my freshman year
he helped me buy my first car {one just like his!}
he walked me down the aisle and into a new last name
and he gripped my baby girl's finger the day she was born and whispered sweet love notes into her ear
a girl should be so lucky to have a diddy like mine. a man who lives out his faith, loud and proud. a man who stares sickness in the face, shakes his fist and says there is still work to do. a man who never meets a stranger and always pulls for the underdog.
a man who bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. all out of the love that pours so freely from his heart.
these days find me white-knuckle clinging to the memories, while cherishing the moments. old as i get, i suspect i'll always need my diddy.
there's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daugther, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~john gregory brown
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