Good dads are an all-too-rare and priceless treasure.
I'm completely blessed to be married to one, and doubly blessed to have been adopted by another.
This post is for him.
I was already grown when my Papa Steve adopted me, so I call him my better-late-than-never dad. He surfs, loves to fish, and tells a great story. He wears suspenders, drives a Jeep, and can make just about anything. His hands are rough but he's a softie. He plays the blues. He tucks in his sweatshirt and wears a stripy cap that his sister knitted for him over his fuzzy-haired head. He is honest and sincere. He has all the wonder and curiosity of a kid, a slow temper, and a generous nature. He loves my mom with all his heart. He works hard without complaining and delights in simple pleasures. He keeps a garden and always plants flowers along with the vegetables. He gives all-encompassing hugs, rolls his own cigarettes, and enjoys a belt of Irish whiskey on special ocassions. He takes pictures (like this one) and sees the beauty in all that surrounds him.
You can see more of his pictures here.
He's a wonderful dad (and grandpa and father-in-law),
and I'm the luckiest daughter in the world.
♦ ♦ ♦