By Amber Karnes
When I was a little girl I thought of my dad as Superman. He was the big brave person who could kill any bug, fix anything when it was broken, solve any problem and knew the answer to any question.
I thought of my dad as a hero. He could do anything or say anything. No matter what it was, or how farfetched it was, it was one hundred percent true. And if anyone tried to disagree I would get mad. One time when I was about 5 years old, my dad had me convinced that he knew how many McDonalds there were in the world. (Although I grant you, each time he answered, it was a different number).
I remember being little and waiting until my dad returned home from work, just to tell him that I got to be the "mom" when we played house at recess. Of course he would be tired, and of course me being the "mom" was the last thing he wanted to hear about, but he sat down and listened to me go on and on about the pettiest things that I did during the day.
As I grew up, I began to realize that my dad really didn't know everything. I realized that my dad was human and made mistakes. But one thing that didn't change was that my dad was still Superman. He still could kill any bug, and still would attempt to fix anything in my life that was broken. Another thing that I realized as I grew up was how lucky I am. My dad is at every sporting event, every piano recital, every baseball game, every awards ceremony and every other monumental event in his children's lives. I know that my dad deserves way more than just one day to honor him.
Dads are wonderful blessings that God has given us. Don't just honor them for one day out of the year -- honor them every single day you can, because they are not in our lives forever. They won't always be there to hear about your day, or to kill that giant spider in the bathroom. But even though times change and people grow up, I would just like my dad to know that I will always be his little girl -- the one who thinks the world of him.
Amber Karnes is a student at Notre Dame Regional High School.