A Very Lucky Girl

I left this draft blank for several weeks because I think this is one of the hardest tributes for me to write. One of the most difficult things this year has been seeing the imperfections in my own parents. It was silly of me to hold them so high in my mind, but I think it's a natural instinct for any child. I love my dad a lot. He has disappointed me in 2013. But at the same time I'm very proud of him for facing struggles honestly. I've talked to him as an equal adult more this year than any other and I like to think he's listened to me sometimes.   He's been my storyteller, my coach, and my biggest fan. He's been my enemy, my provider, and my companion. I wouldn't trade him for any other father.  I learned in Sociology of Family last semester that fathers are usually the parent who encourages their kids to take risks. Paul has done that for me. Sometimes without a choice; moving is always a risk and I've done it several times. But with those...

Late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, depending on your individual bed time, I came home to an envelope on my desk. Sharbear had sent me a letter. I opened it to find an adorable card that I really couldn't see very well through my tears, but that I later verified the cuteness factor of.  I'm still not sure if the water in my eyes should have been blamed on a few cocktails or the fact that I'm a big baby. Life is hard sometimes-- crazy, mixed-up, messed up. And there you are, in the middle of it all, just doing your thing... being strong and brave and beautiful like it's no big deal. But let me tell you, girl, it is. Not everyone can do what you can do. Not everyone can handle things the way you can. While you wonder sometimes if you're doing ok... the rest of us are just watching in wonder. Welp, the mystery of cocktail or baby has been solved. Due to the current blurryness of my vision, I am a giant infa...

“I am a princess. All girls are, even if they live in tiny, old attics. Even if they dress in rags, even if they aren’t pretty, or smart, or young. They’re still princesses. All of us. Didn’t your father ever tell you that? Didn’t he?”-The Little Princess Paul taught me that I am princess. When I was younger we would go on daddy-daughter dates every so often, maybe once or twice a month. They weren't anything big or fancy, but he would pay for my Sonic drink and still opens the car door for me when he comes to pick me up at school, subconsciously instilling expectations for future boyfriends (so far most have sucked in comparison). He even let me drive his midlife crisis car (a Mercedes convertible SLK? SRK? it's tiny and shiny) a few times in Beaumont; in fact, I think it's about time for another joyride soon... He and I are a lot alike, which has led to some volatile disagreements over the years. We both love to make people laugh, but hate to be wrong. We both used to...