better to be lucky than good

i’m a momma’s girl. this is obvious to anyone who knows me, even slightly. i admire my mom for being the best person i know. she is a strong, smart woman, and i love her.

but something that i often fail to acknowledge is that there is something else to my momma. my momma is my best friend, but i am not hers. and i could not be happier about that.

because my daddy is my momma’s best friend.

my momma brings my dad and i together. she is the link that holds us together, because, until about two years ago, the two of us could have slipped away from each other without much effort. while this is extremely unpleasant, embarrassing and unflattering to think about, let alone put in writing… it’s true.

my daddy is a traveler. he was gone a lot when i was growing up, and sometimes it was difficult to adjust to his coming and going. he was home for lots of the important stuff. he was also gone for lots of the unimportant stuff that didn’t show up in pictures, but showed up in things like new freckles or scars.

so we fought because we didn’t know how to talk. about dishes, messy rooms, homework, taking care of the dog. anything there was to fight about, we did. with passion.

and i never understood why he didn’t get me. why i didn’t get him.

my brother said things would change when i moved to college. “something will click,” he said. “and you will get each other.”

i wouldn’t say it was a “click.” there was no “a-ha” moment, but things. little things that have ended up being some of my favorite things about my relationship with my dad.

there was the ruined, un-refundable prom dress that he replaced with one that cost nearly three times as much.

there was the move from michigan state to home to grcc to columbia, and all of the financial tuition changes he has yet to complain about.

“dad, do you want to watch a movie?” “yeah, what do you want to watch?” “batman.” “okay.” (repeat 1-3x per month or visit home (whichever comes first) in the last three years)

all the fleetwood mac roadtrips.

pounds of blue gill for dinner.

it was these, and so many other, little things… these things that made me realize that i may be a momma’s girl, but i am my dad’s daughter.

independent. almost always to a fault.

smart as a whip. it’s the kidneys.

can’t whistle worth shit.

funny (mostly to self, sometimes to others)

kind.

unlikely to acknowledge personal accomplishments.

passionate, sometimes to a fault.

loyal.

strong work ethic.

the older i get, the more i appreciate the things we share. the less i compare our relationship to other father-daughter relationships or the relationship he shares with my mom, the more i appreciate him. all of the oil changes, all of the phone calls, all of the times he’s saved me.

happy as i am that our relationship is stronger than it has ever been, i am even happier that his relationship with my momma is, too.

how lucky we are to love and be loved by each other.