i think i hate you...

On my way to work, I saw a man around my father's age carrying his four or five year old daughter as he and his wife crossed the street. The wife stopped for a moment, to check her ringing cellphone. While they waited, the little girl had her arms wrapped around her father's neck, their cheeks touching. She looked happy, safe. The man I'd grown up thinking was my father never held me. I don't even recall him carrying me, even if it was like a sack of potatoes. A little girls relationship with father is so special. Only glancing at this little girl's cute, contented face, I knew that in her heart, she had faith that her daddy could drive away demons, could lift her above any danger, keep her out of any fire or flood, and help her defeat any pain. She'd surround herself with his power, like some suit of armor, and she'd never be afraid of the dark. She'll become a young lady, searching for a man to love her as much as her daddy did. Even when she finds such a person, she'll turn to her father to feel secure about her decision, and when she looks at him, she will see that he sees her forever and always as his little girl. Not a million days, not a million ticks of a clock, not a million strings of birthdays could change it, and even if she would get him to say that she was no longer his baby, she would see a smile behind his agreement that said, "However, you'll always be my baby girl."