Made in His Image

When I was growing up, it was my greatest desire to be “daddy’s little girl.” I knew I was my mom’s “girl” but I felt that since I came first in the line up, I had dibs on being the apple of my dad’s eye. Somehow, this dialogue was born that my sister, the secondborn, was the It Girl after all. It didn’t matter how much my heart longed for that to be different, my family had decided. She was tom-boyish, therefore she must be my dad’s favorite.

Now, I will NOT be re-writing history here. She may have been. She may not have been. What I know now, in this moment…is that I had always had my wish and I just didn’t know it. What I know now is that I didn’t give my dad enough credit. I didn’t let my image of him include the kind of heart that could love all of us so deeply. What I know now is that my dad and I were kindred spirits. And man, does that suck to know now….and not then.

Fun fact: My dad was a Libra. Cute! This means that my dad yearned to never have been fully pinned down. He needed to be free, as free as the air. This also means that, to his core, my dad desired to find balance. This is where he struggled most.

Secondary Fun Fact: I am a Libra rising. Which means, that through those same lessons of being free and finding balance I am able to realize my fullest potential.

My dad loved to write. It was one of the things that made him feel wholely like himself. He loved to write poetry. He loved to read. He loved to talk. In short, he loved words.

My dad knew a little bit about, seemingly, everything. He had a fount of somewhat useless knowledge. He was willing to teach on almost anything at a moment’s notice.

My dad loved to travel and prided himself on being an excellent traveller. He loved other cultures and was constantly introducing us to a new one or a new aspect of one we already “knew.”

My dad loved people. He loved to hear their stories. He loved to help them through the rough places.

My dad loved food. He loved to make it. He loved to feed people. He loved what his food said to the people who were eating his cooking.

My dad struggled to see that he was worth loving. He didn’t understand the depth of his value. He did not realize that his life was vital, that he wasn’t just a cog in the wheel. That he was great. That he was important.*

These are the things that are/were him…
….these are the things that are me.
I am made in his image.

What a shame to only realize this now.

Maybe it is because I was able stop contending with him in my mind, he is no longer a force I must push against. Maybe it is because I had come to be more gracious to myself. Maybe a little of column B and a whole lot of column A. But, no matter the reason, I hate I didn’t have this revelation earlier…and yet, I am still grateful to have it now.

*P.S. I am grateful that just days before my dad passed away I realized how much my life was worth living. I get to break that cycle. I get to be inspired by the image I had of my dad and I get to carry the torch even farther that he was able to go.