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The Watered Flower

6/18/2017

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My father was the first male to ever love me. I only knew because he told me sometimes and he showed me always. He called me "Beautiful" a nickname he called me til his death. I learned early and often how a man should treat a woman by the way he instructed me when I came to him for advice and by the ways he looked at me disapprovingly, yet without interfering, when I provoked my thorns to get my way in relationships.

My dad used to ask me hard thought-provoking questions about life, faith, the meaning of things. He was patient with my answers. I know I tested his resolve. He probably thought I should be quieter around men, more adaptive.

Dad only wanted to see me happy and smiling. I know because he told me every single time we were together. He used to wink at me from across the room and mouth, "I am proud of you my daughter." I honestly think he loved to hear himself say those words, "My Daughter."

On my wedding day, I asked my parents for advice. My mother said, "Memorize his social security number so you can always find him. And always save something...just enough that only you know about. An amount that will get you back home from anywhere."

My father had just six words. "Let the man be the man."

I know my dad was happy with my choice in a mate and father to our children. I know because of the way Dad showed interest and love to my husband.

The only signs my dad looked for were my happiness and my smile.

I married my mate on Father's Day 25 years ago.
I do know his social security number, but I never developed a single reason for that stash. Any stash is going toward "our" seeing the world together and our getting home together.

I feel just like a watered flower.
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    La Detra Joy

    I love being around people. I would rather live falling than break my spirit never trying anything hard. This blog is about trying and retrying life.

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