PARENTING June 14, 2004 Issue

Thanks, Dad

By Barbara Vining

My dad went with me when I shopped for my first prom dress. Etched in my heart for all time is the love I felt from him when I emerged from the dressing room in that burgundy gown and he stood there with his hands on his hips and a radiant "She's the apple of my eye" look on his face. The photographer at my wedding a few years later caught him looking at me in the same incredibly loving way.

What made those moments memorable for me wasn't just that Dad thought I looked beautiful, but that he cherished me as an individual. It was typical of Dad to take an interest every day in the doings of each of his four very different offspring. He loved us equally and unconditionally. And he delighted in our individuality.

I was quite the tomboy as a little girl. Being more interested in playing ball (like my older brother, Bob) than in playing with dolls, I would often borrow my brother's shorts and shirts in favor of the pretty dresses little girls wore in those days. Sometimes I even tucked my hair up in one of Bob's caps so people would think I was a boy. Dad would play along, calling me "Willy the Kid."

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