Scribbles to you, but everything to me.

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As I cleaned my desk off today I found something of a note my daughter wrote for me. Sure it may be some toddler code or perhaps early signs they may become a doctor when they grow up. Either way, I cherish it. She went to work with me the other day and she was my little helper, or if you ask her, my big helper. Though like most grown up tasks you give to a child because they want so bad to be like you, they usually always lose interest and find something else to do. As did she this day. I was wrapping signs in bubble wrap getting them ready to ship. She insisted on helping and I agreed. After the third sign she finally realized that this was BUBBLE WRAP in her hands and slowly turned her back to me. With each one popped a slight squeal of excitement escaped her grin. I smiled at her and let her go on. She finally came to me a said “I want to write you a story”. I asked what kind of story she was going to write and she replied “a story about my Daddy”. So I pulled a piece of typing paper from the printer and gave her a pen. About the same time my email chime went off and I got a phone call, so needless to say I was consumed by something else too. Thirty minutes later we were off to the shipping place. Then today I came in to wrap another sign to ship and found her story just lying there. Just a white piece of typing paper with scribbles up and down the page. Of course I don’t know what it says, but I’d like to believe it’s the greatest story in the world about a Dad written by his daughter. With that said, I wrote the date on the back, her name, and folded it four times. I then slid it in my wallet next to those imaginary hundred dollar bills only to take back out and read when I feel like I need a smile on my face.

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