One of my own

Sorry I have missed the last two weeks. See, we had a fire. Luckily, it didn't get our place (although, for about an hour it was a very close possibility), but it took out the next building over that housed the internet. Less then 20 yards away ... damn, it was so close.



Anyways, internet was a no go for a while there, since we had to visit the library on campus, and it was a matter of do what needs to be done, and get the hell out of there. I didn't have a secure connection, so putting in passwords and all wasn't going to happen.



This topic though, it definitely fits given recent events. See, I have a good, decent man of my own. When we were woke up by a neighbor pounding on the door screaming that the building was on fire, I tossed the car keys to my daughter and told her to go, then grabbed what needed to be grabbed. Hubby was right behind me, shoving me out the door.



And as I cried, sitting there in the car down the road and watched as the building next to us when up in flames, he was there, holding strong for our family. See, he's like that.



Oh, he has his bad days ... he has a fine temper, and an attitude to match. And when we both get mad, the screaming matches are top of our lungs, no holds barred. He is by no means perfect, but perfection can be boring.



But when he has his good days, watch out.



Our 13 year anniversary is coming up, and the fire got me to remembering times gone by. And the trip down memory lane wasn't always pleasent, but it only made me appreciate him more.



His patience when I was coming back into myself again, since he was my first relatonship after being raped. Yeah ... he could have been a rat-bastard who used my fears to subjegate me, and mold me into a shell of myself. Instead, he was a loving ass and pushed me ... pushed me to find myself, to have faith in myself ... and he pushes me still.



He is the reason that I write ... the reason that I went to college ... the reason that I finished college ... the reason that I push myself so much. Some days, my darkest days, and I have them still, he is the reason I keep breathing. I have struggled with depression most of my life, and he's the one who watches, and notices, and says it's time to visit with the doctor now. It's time to get help, and work through things, before I do something that I can't take back.



And when I need shelter from the world, he's there. But what makes him so damn special isn't what he does for me. It's what he does for our daughter.



He's the kind of dad who pushes her to meet her potential, to use her brains, but showers her with love when she fails, when she doesn't believe in herself enough to try, and when she quits, just as much as when she succeeds. He listens. He hugs. He brushes hair, and chases the bad dreams away. He teaches her to defend herself, and is ready to defend her if he can. He shops with her - although, there he does grumble, cause hello, she is a teenager now. He hikes with her, and teaches her, and leaves himself open to learn from her.



She will grow into a confident young woman, and know that a man should treat her well, treat her with respect, give her attention, and just listen to her, because he is showing her that. And if a man does treat her wrong, daddy will kick his ass ... or sit back and laugh at the jackass as she takes care of it herself.



That, above all else, is why he deserves praise.