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My dad is neither famous, nor wealthy, and he probably doesn't fit the illusion society may have about fathers. He is a blue-collared member of the working class with a few flaws to ensure his rank. Maybe my dad isn't perfect. But that doesn't matter. He is famous for always being there for me when I needed him the most and his love is a gushing river of burning gentleness and warmth. This, however, does matter.
The relationship between father and daughter is always different from that of mother and daughter. Of course, I love both of my parents the same, hands down. But the twinkle found in the depths of my father's eyes has always provided me a sense of reassurance. For as long as I can remember, I've looked up to "daddy". In my childhood eyes, superman was no match for my hero. He was always, without a doubt, my knight in shining armor, my prince charming; my dad could simply do anything and everything. There was something about the way his large, rough hands devoured......

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Approximate Word Count: 747
Approximate Pages: 3 (250 words per double-spaced page)

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