Redheaded Jill

Dads are the best. Dads are heroes. Dads are the representation of God in the home. I love my dad.

My dad is the type of guy who hears you say, “I really want a chicken coop” and a week later he is in the backyard building you one. He’s the kind of guy who mows my lawn on a Saturday and doesn’t ask for help. He chops wood and stacks it under my shed. He calls the insurance company to find out details about their unnerving letter demanding you replace your roof. He is the kind of dad who spends Labor day (your birthday) building you a custom raised garden bed out of scraps from your brother’s house build. He comes by to fix a running toilet or knock down a wasps nest. He calls and says he found me a better deal on internet so I can get rid of the outdated over priced centurylink. He takes the kids to see the cows when I’m overwhelmed while babysitting so that I can have a moment to breathe. He teeters around on bad knees and puts off getting them replaced because he’s too busy.

Nobody takes care of me like my dad.