Six years ago, I made Christmas gifts for my family.
For my dad, I made a pillow listing the top eight
things he taught me: assertiveness, sense of
humor, problem-solving, analytical thinking,
commitment, adventure, looking for the lesson,
and finding beauty in sunsets. He cried when he
opened it. That pillow still sits on his couch today.
And now? He’s the father I always wanted. The one
I didn’t know how to see back then. The one who
was always there, quietly showing up, even when I
couldn’t appreciate it. The one who never stopped
loving me.
When my rental house caught fire, he was my rock.
He kept me grounded. He was my sounding board.
My safe place.
Today, when we visit each other, it’s second nature
to bring our work clothes and tools. That’s just how
we show love. Yes, there are hugs—he’s the best
hugger ever—and words of affirmation, but our real
connection shows up in the way we spend time
shoulder to shoulder. We solve problems, tackle
projects, laugh through the mess, and build things
together. That’s where the magic lives for us: in
doing, in fixing, in showing up for one another
without needing to say a word.
I look back now and change the story.
I no longer see a man who wasn’t enough. I see a
man who showed up every chance he could. Who
coached softball even when I gave him the cold
shoulder. Who took us on road trips when money
was tight. Who was never too proud to keep trying
—even when his teenage daughter wished him
dead on her walk home from school.
He made memories for us. He planted seeds of
connection, even when the ground was rocky. And
now, decades later, those seeds have bloomed into
one of the strongest, most sacred relationships I
have in my life.
In my 20s and 30s, our relationship was... neutral.
But every time I needed him—really needed him—
he showed up. When I needed help building a block
wall, he walked me through how to plan it, what
materials to order, and took a three-day weekend
to help me construct it. When my master
bathroom needed a complete rebuild, he took a
week off work—s acrificing his earnings and
temporarily closing his business, which cost him
significantly—to be there. Whether we were re-
insulating my house, doing electrical work, or
preparing my place for sale, he was there.
We rebuilt things together—homes, memories, and
trust.
He made memories for us. He planted seeds of
connection, even when the ground was rocky. And
now, decades later, those seeds have bloomed into
one of the strongest, most sacred relationships I
have in my life.
He loves calling me just to tell me he misses me, or
to say how proud he is of me—and every time, it
touches my heart so deeply it brings me to tears.
Joyful tears. The kind that remind you you’re truly
seen. Truly loved. And always worth fighting for.
So, what’s my advice to other daughters and
fathers?
Talk. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
To every father and daughter navigating the messy
middle: Be willing to talk. Be willing to see each
other as humans, not just titles. Parents aren’t
superheroes. Kids aren’t perfect communicators. We
all carry expectations we don’t know how to
express.
Let go of the expectations we silently place on each
other. The ones that say, “You’re my dad, you should
have known better.” Or, “You’re my daughter, you
should have understood.” Because the truth is,
we’re all just doing the best we can with the tools we
have at the time.
Be willing to listen—not just with your ears, but with
your heart. Look for the human underneath the title
of “parent” or “child.” Be patient. Be open. And
when the moment comes to clear the air, don’t let it
pass you by. That moment may be the key that
opens everything.
But healing is possible. Magic is possible.
Connection—the deep, soul-filling kind—is
absolutely possible.
Soften your edges. Open your heart. Say the hard
things. Ask the hard questions. And when the time
comes, bring your work gloves. There may be
something beautiful worth rebuilding.