Her hair is a tussled mess, always and that only serves to prove that she is indeed my daughter. He is the man who has taught me how to be fearless or at least fear a lot less. They are my world and I pack snacks and extra diapers so that we can traipse around an apple orchard for an hour or so in search of the gifts of the season, but they are my gifts every season. The girl with the wily mop of hair, the man holding her and my heart all at the same time.
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