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I Am My Father’s Daughter

We joke that your face is just pasted onto mine,
I have your eyes, their color,
Your nose, your ears. 
I have your quiet observation,
Your sense of a person’s dignity.
I have your way of dropping more and more sailor words
the more american beers I drink.
You taught me that one can celebrate,
but one must never call out of work hungover.
The cows must be milked after all.
I see your worry in my furrowed brow,
I have your quiet chuckle.
We both pause to look up at the ceiling when trying to find the right phrase.
I have your level headed logic mixed with your fiery passion for truth.
I showed you a childlike love for God, you show me a fatherly acceptance of Grace.
I learn that I can change, that I can grow, that I can become,
No matter where I am in life.
When we are angry, We square our shoulders and make eye contact in the same way.
But when we apologize, we do it with the same sincerity and with the same hope.
You never step down from the role of dad,
And I am always so grateful to be cradled in your arms.
I am the same age as you when I was born.
I think of holding a daughter of my own one day,
And I think of my own 26 year old father,
Holding his little girl,
Yesterday, when you see me, you envelope me in your arms,
Cradling me, as I hold on to you, in our Thanksgiving hug.
I am my father’s daughter.

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