Tender

This morning I was driving past the daycare center near my house at about 7:45. I always pass by this center and look over at it, and I almost always see a working mom or dad bringing their child(ren) in or out. I always think of what their days must be like, how long and hard it must be for their whole family.
Today I glanced over and I saw a father, who looked like he probably worked construction, standing by the open passenger side door of his truck. He was gathering his daughter's hair up into a ponytail (and doing a really good job, I have to say). She looked like she was probably about four and they looked like they probably were not the wealthiest people. But the way he was fixing her hair up so nicely, it was just so tender, and well, maternal. I drove north down Wickham with a big lump in my throat. It brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to pull the car over and tell him, look, you may not have everything, you may struggle to provide for your family, but what you are doing is really important, and every kindness and care you show your little girl, that counts for something. Every little girl should be so blessed to have a good father who not only provides financially for her and her family, but is also emotionally involved and participates in the day to day stuff, the little things, like fixing her hair up in the morning. Little girls grow up and they remember things that their daddys did or did not do. They remember ways that their father was either present or absent from their lives. I know this is true.

Last night Anna fell asleep next to Dave on the couch and she slumped over, leaning on him as she slept. He picked her up and she automatically wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight as he carried her to her room. He said, Poor baby! You're so tired. The way he said it touched me because there was just so much love in his voice. He's so tender with her. I am so grateful that my little girl has such a loving daddy. I have scars on my heart from my own relationship with my father. But everything that was lacking between my Dad and I, I can see now between my own daughter and her Daddy.
She does not have just a father, or a Dad, but a Daddy who loves her with his undivided attention and entire heart. My Dad did the best he could, I really do believe that he did, and I am grateful for what he did provide for me. But his addiction and his struggles fractured his heart into pieces, and he only had so much to offer to me. My own mother's father was much, much worse than my Dad. He was an evil man to his very core. I fared much better than my mother did, as far as who my father was.
But I am so glad that the cycle of broken father-daughter relationships stops here, stops right here with this generation. My daughter has a good Daddy. They laugh and play together. He knows her. And she knows him. And that love between Dave and Anna is like a soothing balm to my own aching heart. I can't get back the years with my Dad. I wish sometimes we could do things over, and I really hope that he wishes that too. But I can gain peace and joy from the present.