Three years old, and there he was.

A stranger then,

As if I could know the story time would tell. . .

That of a girl,

Blonde hair with springy curls

that reached her bottom,

Pale white skin,

So very unsure of what was to come.

Half-hidden behind her mother's side,

Timid at heart and reluctant to share,

She wondered

Who is this man with a scratchy beard?

He took them for ice cream.

Fast forward to wedding bells,

Everything moving quickly -

She's five now.

This man -

Daddy -

Presents a vow:

I'll never leave,

Not later, not now.

On the little girl's left hand,

A ring he placed -

A promise to his daughter,

A symbol of the family they'd made.

This man,

The one who shared no blood,

Was the one to become

Her full-time dad.

The dad who kept a roof over her head,

Food on the table,

Butter and bread.

The one who taught her to ride a bike;

Get back up and try again,

That's the way in life you'll win.

The one she pushed away

Over and over again;

A test?

Maybe.

They battled and bumped heads daily.

He's the dad who wore the Santa hat

Every Christmas morning,

Greeting her, and her brother,

With video camera rolling.

The one who when he traveled

brought back postcards and pens as souvenirs.

And, the one who as time passed,

Took the brunt of her teenage years.

He'd be the receiver of rolling eyes and slammed doors,

The one she talked back to,

Yet still he gave more.

Roll ahead,

The girl grew up -

Into a woman she became;

She met a guy

And took his last name.

This dad, then, was the one

To walk her down the aisle,

She in blue high heels,

Him the steady hand all the while.

Together they danced and he held her close -

His little girl she'd always be.

Now, he's the one she hugs a little tighter,

For after all that, she sees.

He's the dad who never left when things got tough;

He was always there,

And to her, that’s enough.

He's the one who stuck around for better or worse,

Good and bad;

He’s the dad she always had.

He made their house a home,

Raising her like his own,

Because really

In every way that mattered

She was.

•Written by Amanda Dayton. You can find more of her writing on her blog page Motherhood Awry.•