Dear Dad,
If I die tonight, it was probably due to Carrie's driving - that girl could run on a tightrope with a baby on her back and still feel safe. Anyway, I haven't written to you yet because I didn't think that I'd be able to fit everything I need to say into one, hurriedly typed letter, so I'm not. Welcome to the first installment of my letters to you.
You are the first man I ever loved and who ever loved me, and I don't think that any other man will be able to love me quite as much as you do. As cheesy as I feel writing that, I guess one becomes disgustingly honest when on their death bed, so bear with me. I love that with everything I do, you match - if not exceed - my excitement. Every sport from soccer to pole vaulting, every injury from ankle to wrist, you are there, walking the path with me. Over the years, you have perfected your YouTube researching skills, become a self-proclaimed physical therapist, and learned the ins and outs of all of my fleeting interests all in my name.
It's amazing to think of how lucky I got to be your daughter. Of all the girls in the world, I get to be the daughter of a man who finds a way to make squirrels ride bikes and sit on swings. I get to be the brain you bounce your movie ideas off of, or share in deep philosophical thoughts, or thoughts that go nowhere but outside the box and never make it to a conclusive idea. No matter what, our conversations are never boring or dull, and I have you to thank for humoring my crazy side.
Love,
Your Daughter
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