I am not a Daddy’s girl, but I would like to be.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

When I was a noticeably young girl, I use to wonder why my dad did not love me the way he loved my little sister. He would pick her up and play with her (spinning her around). He had a cute name for her. When he saw her, the biggest smile would appear on his face. She was the center of his joy. He would do anything for her.