My daddy is a builder of things. He is a sharer of ju-jubes. He is a man who is usually pretty quiet and you should listen when he does talk because it's generally good sense; unless it's just a really bad joke.
My daddy is a dog/cat/mouse/skunk/fox whisperer. He reads suspense novels in large print. He's kept a Lego "I love you" that we made for him when we were kids intact for almost 30 years.
My daddy used to wrap me up in his quilted plaid jacket and sit on the front porch, watching thunder storms with me so I wouldn't be scared. He is a procurer of pickles and a maker of "hamburger slop".
My daddy is one of those dads who doesn't tell you all the time, in so many words, that he loves you. But you know it, without a doubt, anyway.
Today is his birthday so I just wanted to say, even though he's not likely to read it: I love you, Daddy.
If he doesn't see it, it's okay, because I'm a lot like him, and he'll already know.