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.