When I was very little, we’re talking 2 maybe 3 years old, I would curl up on the basement couch with my dad and watch the movie Bambi over and over and over again. My dad would nod off (perhaps he didn’t find Thumper as an intriguing of a character as I did) only to be awoken by myself. This cycle repeated itself time and time again. I would sit glued to the happenings on the TV screen as my dad would “check for holes in his eyelids.”

My dad, oh my wonderful dad, what a character he is. This is the man who, when the mailman pulled up to the house, taught me how to say “thank you” in German and later, taught me how to cuss in the same language. This is the man who upon the killing of a spider, would run after me with it in his outstretched hand. This is also the man who told me to "walk it off" whenever I fell down and scraped my knees.

The Sarg, as I so fondly refer to my father at times, is my hero. He has given up so much for his family throughout the many years he served in the Army. When I was younger, I did not take the time to appreciate this fact. I did not want to do what my dad did (typical teenage mindset). Now as I grow older, the realization of what the Sarg went through is humbling. It is because of this that my father is my hero and one of the main reasons I too joined the Army.

When I was a little kid, I remember watching my dad shine his black leather boots before leaving for work in the morning. Or I remember the many trips to post for some Army function. I thought it was the coolest thing to sit in the seat of a helicopter that Dad flew in. There’s a photo of my brother in Dad’s flight gear that makes me smile every time I look at it.

Dad would play H-O-R-S-E with me out in the driveway or catch in the backyard. He was my soccer coach (bless his heart for putting up with teenage girls) or was taking me to my brother’s soccer practices to rough up the boys (“Kayley, terror in the backfield,” he would say). He was in the stands during my swim meets and marching band competitions. He was there for my basic training and college graduations. Even though the Army required much of his time, he made more than enough of an effort to show his children that he cared what we were doing.

Dad taught me how to drive, with my first lesson being learning how to park his pickup truck. He taught me how to ride a bike and how to enjoy a good German beer. Now, when I need help and advice, he’s there on the other line telling me to stay positive, where to take my car to get it fixed, and no, that guy is not worth my time. He tells me that I look most beautiful without makeup and when I’m back visiting, invites me out to the deck to talk over beers.

Most importantly, my dad lets me know that he’s proud of me. Well Sarg, I’m proud of you. I’m proud to be your daughter. I’m proud to wear the same uniform as you. If I can find a guy who is half the man my father is, then I’ll know I’ve got a good one.

My dad and me on Family Day during Basic Training at Fort Jackson, SC.

My dad during deployment to Iraq.

The Sarg receiving the Legion of Merit before he retired last year from the Army.

Just Dad and me, all smiles!

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you, hooah!