I was born a daddy’s girl. But a daddy’s girl I was not to be.
My mom won that lotto.
See, my father is more dynamo than daddy.
He’s an island.
A teacher who teaches.
A force to be reckoned with.
And as he will tell you, he’s a survivor.
Handlebar moustache and all…at least in 1977.
But above all, he IS an island.
I am the same…except for the small fact that I just like people too much.
I love my friends.
I love family.
But don’t get me wrong. I am my father’s daughter.
I am a showman. I am creative. And I love improving people’s lives when I can.
When I think of my dad, I think of confidence, power, discipline, bravado, strength and tall tales.
I think of the perfected apple pie, comforting beef goulash, hot morning porridge, drive-in hamburgers, Mercedes 280 SLs, golden oldies, Wolfman Jack, small town boy-made-big city-dreams-come-true and a bigger-than-life man who is never to be forgotten.
Truthfully, there is NO ONE like him. Take J.R. Ewing, mix in a cup of Elvis Presley and a dash of a good Pat Conroy novel and you, my friends, have my father, Dr. David L. McCoy.
He may not be perfect. He may not be easy. He may not even be likable, at times. But he is always, ALWAYS memorable…and, most importantly, one of a kind. One of my kind.
My tribe. As flawed – and, as fabulous – as we may be.
Dad, Thanks for teaching me to be true to myself and to never settle for less than just being me.
Happy Daddy’s Day, Dad. I hope your tomatoes are growing as strong as you are at 74.
BF Asks: What makes your dad unique?