My mom was not around much when I was little. She disappeared when she and my dad split, leaving him with a brown-eyed, one-and-a-half-year-old girl. I can guarantee that my father had no inkling how to fly solo with the whole parenting thing, but with each day, he continued to try.

I don’t remember much about my early years, but my father made sure I had a chance to be a little girl. He now admits that he was always worried I would become a tomboy because of him. To prevent this, he would dress me in lacy pink dresses and black patent leather shoes. He even managed to style my hair, although he knew only one method: I would lie on the couch, with my feet pointing toward the ceiling and my head dangling off the edge, and my dad would gather my long hair into a ponytail smack dab on top of my head. At school, I flaunted that up-do, trying to make the other girls wish they had a daddy like mine.

In addition, my dad was not a bad cook. Despite Hamburger Helper appearing on the menu a few too many times, there was always variety – breakfast for dinner, grilled chicken, vegetable soup, grilled cheese – but the best were his egg sandwiches. Nothing compares to a perfectly fried egg on white bread. It sounds simple, but for some reason, no one makes it like he does.

Hands down, I am Daddy’s girl, or “little one” as he likes to call me. Not because I have his olive complexion, ape-like arms, or big lips. Not because I love to work with my hands as much as he does. But because I simply admire him. He was faced with the challenges of both a father’s and a mother’s responsibilities. I’ve heard that being a parent is one of life’s toughest jobs. Well, what about being both parents? My dad faced the challenge and succeeded; I lacked nothing.

My father was, and is, always there for me. I remember once I was walking barefoot around our complex. I stepped obliviously into an ant frenzy on the sidewalk. I screamed for my daddy, and instantly, he was there asking what the heck was going on. When he noticed the small specks covering my legs, he brushed them off so quickly I forgot why I was crying. Memories like this remind me that my dad was always there with open arms, ready to help me.

I want be to be like my dad. I want to be able to face life’s toughest challenges and be there for the important people in my life. I want to give others an opportunity to make their own decisions. I want to make the best egg sandwiches. Most of all, I want to be my daddy’s little one.