Growing up, I wanted to be just like my father.

I wanted his handwriting, his sense of humor and his revolutionary spirit.

I even admired the scar on his forehead - the one he received when he was pushed through a police gauntlet, beaten by nightsticks and clubs.

In 7th grade, I took on the nickname 'Danny' - his name (no one decided to address me as such). To say I was a daddy's girl would be a idealistic understatement.

Through a kidney transplant, separation by multiple state lines and family conflicts, my love for my father has never waned.

At five I was even blessed with a second father, Bob, who eventually took on the responsibility of being a father when distance and disputes strained the relationship I had with my own.

Today I celebrate them both, Danny Drew and Robert Day, equally. I also celebrate Minus Heath, Lafayette Heath, JC Huckaby and Charles Drew (Rest In Paradise), my grandfathers who have never ceased supporting me, threatening my boyfriends, giving me advice I didn't ask for and questioning the fit of my britches.

I love you all.

Happy Fathers Day.

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