My dad is my favorite adventure buddy, the reason for my quirky humor, and the only person who makes more obscure movie references than me. He is hands down the best dad I could possibly imagine, and one of the biggest favors he ever did for me was not telling me I was pretty while I was growing up.
Let me be perfectly clear: My dad is so wildly supportive of me and every half-thought dream I’ve ever had. He told me I was intelligent when I brought home school assignments, he told me I was worthy when I had to explain that the boy he thought so highly of in high school wasn’t really interested in me, and he told me I was brave when we traveled together and ran into all sorts of scenarios. But never did his affirmation rest in something so trivial as me being pretty.
My dad never commented on my appearance. He never commented on the length of my shorts because he recognized that the ability to see my skin did not detract from my worth as a person. He never commented on my hair, my make-up, or any article of clothing, except to acknowledge when he recognized something he had gotten for me. He never asked about boys, at least not before every other possible subject from politics to comedies had been exhausted. He never allowed our ability to go somewhere hinge on my willingness to wear anything other than a t-shirt. To my dad, my appearance never affected our relationship.
I know I’ve written before on how absurd culture’s dependence on beauty is. I stand by that, but the roots of that rest as much in my upbringing as in my own life. I’ve never questioned my worth because someone didn’t find me cute, because I was never taught to find my worth there. My semblance of intelligence, my occasional courage, and my undeniable stubbornness are all directly linked to my dad.
Excuse the cheesiness of the next paragraph, because I am thankful for my dad for countless other reasons.
Hey, Daddy... Thank you for teaching me how to make plans, and more importantly how to bounce back when plans inevitably fall through. Thank you for teaching me patience and understanding through all the times I’ve forced you to practice it. Thank you for your stubbornness, because we all know I got it from you. Thanks for always going into incredible detail for every question I’ve ever asked you, and ensuring I walked away from every one of our road trips with new knowledge of the world. Thank you for indulging my sense of adventure, and giving me the chance to satisfy it on my own as well as with you by my side.
Oh, and thanks for thinking I’m beautiful, but for never placing that above all my other qualities.
I love you, Dad.
