My Papa > Your Papa

My dad could beat up your dad if he wanted to. It’s true. And I’m from Harlem now, so don’t challenge me.

:)

But seriously, I cannot imagine having a better Papa. So, in honor of Father’s Day, today’s post is going to be a myriad of some of my favorite memories with him. (Disclaimer: I absolutely adore my mom! She’s the most incredible lady I know. And my dad would even say that what you’re about to read wouldn’t be possible without her. So a lot of these things involve how amazing she is too!!)

When I was in elementary school, my dad would check me out of school about once a month for Daddy/Daughter Dates. I don’t know if he planned it this way or if it just happened, but he had impeccable timing. See, I wasn’t all that popular in elementary school. But once a month, the magical voice in the ceiling would speak and tell everyone that I was going to the office to be checked out. And if I was lucky, the class next door was quiet enough to hear it as well. Instead of sitting around deciding if I wanted to trade my chips for an extra pudding cup, I got to walk right out of the classroom without the bathroom pass or adult supervision. And Papa would always be standing by the front door, which of course he held open for me. We’d get into the car, and he’d ask me where I wanted to go for lunch. It was always the same restaurant. I still can’t remember the name today, though, and I certainly couldn’t then! But he knew exactly what I meant when I said, “That little place with the thing you let me get.” It was this hole in the wall Mexican place. I don’t remember what meal I would get (probably chicken fingers and fries), but I do remember the dessert. The entire reason for me to pick that restaurant. See, my family didn’t eat out a whole lot, and we certainly were never allowed to get dessert (unless it was our birthday and the restaurant offered the free mini ice cream scoop and candle). But on these Daddy Dates, he let me have an entire dessert all to myself. If you’ve been to a Mexican restaurant of any quality, you know the dessert I’m taking about: sopapillas. Wonderful fried bread that’s swimming in a lake of honey in a powdered sugar bathing suit. And I was allowed to eat the whole entire thing. Sure, P.E. wasn’t all too enjoyable afterwards, but it was worth it. Those were some of the best days in elementary school, because my Papa took time out of work (which I didn’t quite understand back then that he and Mom didn’t just chill at home all day) to take me to lunch so I could have a sopapilla and brag to all my classmates.

Until I was about twelve and a half, dancing was my life. The sacrifices behind that statement alone are enough proof that my Papa could beat up your dad, but we’ll move on. I’d be at the studio till eight or even later at night when my dad would come and pick me up. One day, it was freezing outside when he came to get me (it might have even been snowing), and he had to pick up dry cleaning or something on the way home. Because he’s so great, he left his keys in the car so that the heater would keep running while he ran in to get his clothes. Big mistake. I tend to hide this fact pretty well, but I can be mischievous. So I locked the doors. I think I made him stand outside for a good five minutes before I had the control of myself to stop laughing and unlock the door for him. To this day, he refuses to leave me in the car with the keys.

One time when I was babysitting, I got freaked out from all my friends talking about the movie When A Stranger Calls or whatever that trash was. So I called him at probably midnight or later, and he came to the house where I was watching a boy named Brett. And my dad watched Lord of The Rings: The Two Towers with me for at least an hour and a half before I felt okay to be by myself again.

He drove my brother and me to a school in Oklahoma City that was 30 minutes away so that I could be at a fine arts magnet school.

He let me attend a different church than my family when I had awful experiences with the first church’s youth group.

He was the coolest parent that helped out with the youth.

He helped me with my math homework, even when I had to teach him the lesson before he could help me.

He gave me his blessing when I wanted to graduate high school early to move to Houston, work at a church there, and live with my aunt at seventeen.

He supported me when I flew to South Africa by myself at seventeen, and he didn’t make me take a direct flight.

He wasn’t angry when I told him and my mom that I didn’t want to be doctor anymore. And he didn’t get upset when I called to talk about changing my major…after I changed my major only like 2 months before that. And he just laughed when I told him that I added a third major. He told me I couldn’t add a fourth major, even though I want to.

He doesn’t get angry when I only spend around two weeks at home at a time. Or when I spend seven birthdays in a row away from home.

He tries his very hardest not to say “I told you so” when I don’t listen to him.

He instilled godly character in me and my siblings.

He never let us see him and my mom argue.

He always kisses our mom in front of us.

He sacrificed for his daughter to be able to move to Harlem for the summer for an unpaid internship in an expensive city so she could work where God is at work.

See? My papa can beat up your dad. No question.

Love and miss you, Papa! Wish I was spending today with you and Mommy!