Sharp Words

So, you know I hate Valentine’s Day, and all the cards and schmaltzy fake romantic claptrap that goes with it. There is one exception. Every year, my dad gets me and my sister a Valentine’s Day gift. Every year. When I was a kid, it was a box of See’s candies and a stuffed animal or something. These days, it’s Godiva.

Every year, Dad gets us each a gift, and every year, I’m both surprised and choked up. It’s not the gift itself (not that I’m complaining about Godiva, you understand), it’s the thought behind the gift, and the consistency. My dad’s been getting me Valentine’s Day gifts since I was knee high. And even though I complain about Valentine’s day, and tell him I’m not expecting anything special, every year, there’s a card, or some chocolates.

Now I’m definitely all grown up. I’m taller than him. I’m married. I have a college degree, a 401K, and I hardly ever get carded when I buy booze. I don’t look like anyone’s little girl, but I’ll always be his daughter. And he’ll always be my dad. And there will always be Valentine’s Day gifts. And I will always get all schmaltzy and choked up. And I will always think how lucky I am to have a dad like him.

P.S. I promise this will be my last sappy post for a good long while. Next week, I’ll be back to the usual rants, bitterness and shameless self-promotion–I promise.

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