Most girls end up with the nickname “Daddy’s Girl”. For the better part of my life, I heard that nickname in reference to friends, but knew that my life did not involve a dad. My dad died at the age of forty and left my mother to raise five children. I was only seven at the time.

Even though I grew up without a father, I did have a brother who was four years older than me. My brother was eleven years old when we lost dad—a very impressionable age. Those next four years are quite a blur now, but I do vividly remember a teenage older brother who was handsome, popular, athletic, and who loved to call me his “Little Sister.” In fact, that’s what everybody else called me . . . “Hey, aren’t you Trip’s little sister?” I was so proud of that fact and had no true idea at the time how much that would benefit me.
As I celebrate Father’s Day with my husband, a terrific father; my three sons, all of whom have accepted their number one role as Great Dad; I pause to celebrate my brother, Trip. Thanks for all those years you looked after me and kept me out of trouble, for being hard on me (for my own sake), and for presenting a male figure who allowed me not to be so different from the Daddy’s Girls.
Happy Father’s Day!
{Vintage Photo, 1953}