Daddy's Little Girl

Daddy’s Little Girl

Now that I am officially 
All grown up
There are days 
When all I want 
Is a hug from my dad
To once again be small enough 
To sit in his lap 
And feel his arms wrap around me
With his chin resting on my head
While he gently
Rocks me back and forth 
To the music that was always playing
In my head
I am still that temper tossed ten-year-old
Crying because I feel like
I am growing up too fast
Sad because my age 
Is no longer a single-digit number
So I must not be a baby anymore 
And I don’t think I’m ready 
To be a grown up just yet
So he reassures me
No matter how big I grow
No matter how old I get
I will always be his baby
I will always be 
Daddy’s little girl

Words: ©2018LCR
Image: Daddy and Daughter, 100 Hugs ©Chris Riddell


  1. I lost my father in the Spring of my 17th year. To this day I yearn for his hug, his laugh, his sweetness. Your poem is exquisite.

    1. I appreciate that very much. I still have my father (for which I am ever so thankful) but my mom lost her dad when she was just 13 years old. I never saw her cry as much as when my dad's father passed away. I think it really made me cherish those moments so much more.

  2. (Names changed)
    Introducing his children, my alleged "father" would put his hand on my (older) brother's shoulder and say, "This here's my oldest boy, Jim." Then he'd smile at my (younger) sister and say, "This is my angel girl, Louise." Then he'd beam at the youngest and say "These here are the SuperTwins, Jerry and Johnny." Finally, he'd jerk his thumb in my direction and say, "And this one here writes poetry."
    Apparently, birth order and my name escaped him. And I guess writing poetry was some sort of sin in his book.
    He was a hell of a guy, my old man.

    1. You know, it's hard to understand parents and how they think. But honestly the first thing that went through my head was that he saved the best for last. He introduced your siblings by their names and how they relate to him, his "oldest" his "angel" his "twins" and if I was the one they were introduced to I wouldn't know anything more about them than that. But you, you he identified by what you do, not who you were to him. That makes you stand out in an amazing way and tells me more about you then name and birth order ever could. You write poetry. You are a thinker, a feeler, a word-lover, a philosopher, maybe even an instigator. Sounds a lot better then simply "This is Ron my second born". I think he paid you a compliment by introducing you as who you are to yourself, not who you were in relation to him. He gave you the autonomy to be your own person. And while he may not have understood poetry he acknowledged that his son was a poet. It almost sounds like pride. But that's just my perspective looking at it from the outside in.

  3. Hi Lori, just to let you know how much i enjoyed your touching poem.
    i have a daughter, she's in her twenties now, and she's still my little girl. how it pains me to see her bring her work home, and i can't help her with those spreadsheets.

    1. I'm so glad it did. And I'll bet she's grateful knowing you would help if you could. Whenever I need advice or a strong dose of the truth I always go to my dad. I always feel better after talking to him.

  4. Although i don't have a daughter i can honestly say my feelings would always be the same

    1. I think that's true for all the good ones. Thank you.


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