The fathers of daughters are a special breed of men.

They see women differently, they see the world for them differently, and that causes them to live differently.

Yet the feminist in me wishes it wouldn't take a baby girl wrapped in pink, or a bride dressed in white for most men to change.

But regardless of male shortcomings, my father possesses certain qualities that I expect to see in men and would not settle for less on in my own relationship; his persistence in pursuing my mother, his security in masculinity that allows her to be exactly who God made her to be, and his ultimate dependence that can be guaranteed on, no excuses.

His work ethic is unmatched. I have never once heard him complain about going to work in the middle of the night or on a weekend - both unnatural and inspiring.

His passion for coaching is unwavering. It brings out the best (and worst of him).

And his love for his girls is sacrificial and unconditional. He's been termed the fitting St. John.

To the man of few words, but whose few words carry enormous weight with me. To the man who taught me how to drive even though mom is a "professional," which gifted me freedom to wander and independence to work. To the man who labors his own yard with vigor, who taught me to plant a seed and water my garden and take pride in working my own creation. And to the man who always taught me to believe in myself and my abilities, which enabled my self-confidence and encouraged my far-sought dreams at an early age.

To this man, I say thank you.

I am so glad I grew up on wings and football, and spent four seasons with you on that field. You needed me on that field.

I am so blessed to have a father who let me figure out God's plan for my life instead of pushing me towards a conventional path of security and stability, a father who believes in relying on God's timing to reveal the right choice.

And I am so lucky to have a father who felt lucky to have daughters, who instilled in me that my gender does not limit my success; I do.

You don't have a hardened heart. You keep a positive outlook on life. You inspire me to roll with the punches, to "do what I have to do, so that I can do what I want to do." You bestow more grace than anyone I know. You are my biggest fan and encourage my endless pursuit. You would say go when I know you'd rather have me stay.

Thank you (and Mom) for not drinking around me, for teaching me that not all football coaches find it a necessity in life, which is probably a sub-conscious reason I stay away from the "devil's brew" myself. Thank you for always taking me seriously, for being the mediator between me and Mom when it comes to our differing right wing politics. Thank you for binge watching Fox News with me, and for taking a deeper interest in my interests. Thank you for sharing your passions with me. Thank you for being exceptional.

It's only now as I've grown older and wiser that I look back and see how spoiled I was, which convinces me that God gives us exactly what we need in the result of our parents. And whatever is lacking in that relationship is most likely what we'll champion as a parent our self one day.

I like the fact that while my parents got to teach me about the way the world is, I got to teach them about the way it should be. I've watched them grow and mature in their faith, sometimes in their politics, and in their standard of Truth and virtues.

I'm also certain that as different as we may be from them, we tend to carry on their familiar traits with us as we age intentionally or unintentionally. Whether that's their taste in food or film - developing their mannerisms, their way of thinking about something, or adopting their given reaction in a given situation - over time, our story really becomes a continuation of theirs.

I know for sure that if Jessica Lynn Kramer got anything different than what she had growing up, she'd be less of the woman she is now; less of an independent thinker, less of an independent spirit, less of an original.