Okay, I’ll say it…
I’m a daddy’s girl.
As a kid, I always had a really wonderful bond with my dad. He was kind of my idol — who I wanted to be when I grew up. He was always loving, always giving. We used to say that he would give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it.
My relationship with God first started because of what I saw in my dad’s life. Praying to my heavenly Father felt so natural… so hopeful. Connecting wasn’t hard.
Besides that, my dad and I are two of a kind. I inherited his ability to worry about pretty much anything. I also inherited his eyes, his love of action movies and his inability to admit when he’s fallen asleep in front of people.
It’s safe to say that growing up, we were always very close. I felt like I could share anything and everything with him. And typically I would.
When I was 18 I made a big move — not only leaving the house I grew up in, but also the state, my family, and the only world I had ever known. The only communication I had with my family was through phone calls.
Another thing you should know about my dad and I: we’re terrible at phone calls. My mom, however, has been blessed with the ability to talk to anyone and everyone for hours on end about pretty much anything. For example, she once had an hour long conversation with the phone operator while trying to call my dad at work. Yeah, I don’t know how she managed that…
When I moved out though, it’s safe to say that my mom was sort of my lifeline to my family back home. She always made the effort to call me and drag me into a conversation that would slowly turn into hours of recounting the day’s details. My dad, however, was more aloof. Occasionally my mom would pass him the phone and we would stumble through a one-worded conversation that normally would last no more than 5 minutes. Then we’d hang up. Naturally, I started calling my mom more and my dad less. Continue reading Ericka Goss: “Prayer”
