One of the few childhood memories of my father that I can recollect with clarity is one of him taking me to the premier of "Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone". I think that this memory stands above the rest because of its sentimental value. You see, that day was full of "first times." It was my first time entering a movie theater. It was my first time visiting Hogwarts. It was also my first time going on a date.

A lot of girls wouldn't count this as a "date," but I don't understand why. After all, aren't our own fathers the ones who broke our hearts for the first time? I know mine did.

When I was four-years-old, my relationship with my father was wonderful. He would let me "drive" his truck during busy hours, choose his attire for special events and walk on his back after a long day. In other words, my daddy would do anything to keep a smile on my face.

Sadly, this father-daughter connection, that made everyone go "awww," ended abruptly soon after I started Kindergarten. It wasn't because we spent less time together, but because we stopped seeing each other completely. My king had left me. Mr. Martínez had left his Little Princess.

At first, I felt confident because my daddy left with the promise that he would find a bigger and better castle for us. Then, my faith in that promise began to diminish. Watching other families during Father's Day soon became unbearable. Was he ever coming back? Had I, without knowing, become a burden for him?

It took a while for me to realize that, during all those years, my daddy longed to hug me on Christmas just as much as I longed to hug him. It took even longer for me to learn that the sacrifice that my family was making was greater than any of the orphan-jokes I'd had to endure. When I actually became aware of all this, I was not only ashamed of my poor mindset, but I was also remorseful for many of the things I had wished for.

After eight long years, as you can imagine, I could not contain my joy when the day for us to reunite finally came. Two things had changed though— I no longer needed his help to tie my shoelaces and "My Little Princess" had become "Katherine."

I can't be Daddy's Little Princess anymore because I am now my father's right-hand. He is my harshest critic, but I do not complain because he is also my biggest supporter. Maybe my father hasn't been able to make it to all of my school activities, but he has enabled me to make great memories at the events he did get to attend.

I came from El Salvador six years ago and since then my father has given me the best present a parent can give to his children: the certainty that I am welcome. My father's words tell me that he is a man of experience, his actions show me his great character, and his immeasurable love for his marriage and daughters assures me that our family is blessed to have him.

I sit across from my father as I type and recount of the evolution of our relationship. He's watching a soccer match, not realizing how much I appreciate his presence. So, this Father's Day I want to say ¡thank you and feliz Día de Los Padres, papá!