It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written a blog post, and this weekend reminds me of a great man I’ve never written about. Sure, I’ve mentioned him in several of my posts and posted several pics with, and of him… but I’ve never written one just for him… One dedicated to just my Daddy. I am truly ashamed.

As most of you guys know, I started typing out the emotions of my heart after my mom died. I’ve typed and typed a million tear drenched words about the woman who carried me, the woman who shaped me, and the woman who left me too soon…

Well, for forty years, there was a man behind that woman who deserves a few strokes of my keyboard devoted just to him.

My Dad is a real man. Like a man’s man. He’s been a welder for 35 years, has calloused hands, has a rod in his middle finger, and wears a blue collar to work everyday with a patch that holds his name over that huge heart he has. He works overtime, drives across state lines to fix equipment, helps family on the weekends, yet he’s always so positive… and so willing. He’s sensational.

My Dad disciplined me, remedied me, and led me. Correcting my manners, reminding me to hold open doors for my Momma, and also whipped my ass. He taught my brother and I to protect each other, and to always defend what was right… To defend what was hard…but what was always honest.

My Dad was always there. I mean always… School sports, showing up in his work uniform at 6pm… I knew he was exhausted, and would probably rather be enjoying a cold beer.. But he was there. Leaning over that fence cheering me on, telling me to run faster, hit harder, and to suck it up. He hugged me after every practice, giving me advice and coaching my spirit on the ride home. He’s built my character one lesson at a time. Everyday without fail, he shows up.

My Dad is real. Oh so real. He’s made mistakes, messes, and late payments. He’s lost his temper and tobacco.

My Dad fathers. He’s always there when I need advice, tools, or just saying “its gonna be okay, buddy”. He understands that parenting is hard and potty training will end… one day. He totally gets that chaos is normal and houses and floors are supposed to be messy while little ones are running around. He calms my mind and makes me want to be a better Dad. A better man. A better husband.

My Dad loves fiercely behind those blue eyes. He wears his heart on his sleeves. He’s been to hell and back and yet his heart still overflows with thankfulness and grace to a God that gives and takes away. He never questions His will or unanswered prayers. He trusts and lets Him lead the way. Always.

My Dad is all I have left. He’s my guy. He’s the one I call, now. The one I text. The one I look to for instructions on how to build things, or how to change the oil in my car. He provides guidance and explanation. He justifies logic and common sense. He reminds me of trying times, and how to endure push back from a world losing grip on faith and humanity.

My Dad is my hero. He is goodness incarnate. Faith and Father earth in one. He is as constant as time and taxes. Kindness and generosity seep through his pores. He means the world to me.

I’m so glad I’m part of him.

He’s my Daddy.