Short Story: A Daddy’s Girl

Hey everyone, I thought I would continue to publish some of things I have written over the years. This piece was written for my course work for A Level English Literature in 2012. Hope you like it.

A Daddy’s Girl

I look in the mirror and behind me I see dad slip into the little room. I smile and think back to when I was little. 

I remember when dad used to run, jump and swing me round and round and round in circles until I was dizzy. Dad the builder. Dad the stained glass window maker. Dad the potter. Dad the pancake maker. Dad and me. We were best buddies. Thumbs up buddies. I was a daddy’s girl. Daddy’s little princess.

I still am daddy’s little girl and his princess. He looks at me and smiles, his eyes full of pride and happiness. Are you ready? He asks. 

I remember the time when he wanted me to do the washing up. ‘Princess, will you do the washing up?’ He asked. ‘No dad, Princesses don’t do washing up.’ I answered smartly. Mum laughed at him saying he ‘had walked right into that.’

I think so, I say. Dad looks smart, so serious but with that mischievous twinkle in his eye that never seems to go away.

I remember the doctor telling him he couldn’t have another operation due to the recently developed arthritis. The operation would have increased the amount of time before he was permanently in a wheelchair. He was in his early forties. It was a devastating blow but we carried on, he still laughed, he still joked. The twinkle in his eye was still there.

How do I look? I ask, giving him the benefit of a full twirl. You look beautiful, you look like a proper girl! He says smiling. I laugh at that.

I remember dressing up for prom. It was a warm June evening and I was standing under the rose-covered arch, in my shimmering dress and satin pink shoes with my hair delicately curled and pinned up, dad was taking pictures of me and my date, whilst telling us how wonderful we looked.

I remember him in the wheelchair when I was 10. I pushed that chair, people used to talk to me, ignore my dad. People used to assume that because he was in a wheelchair it made him incapable of understanding what people said to him. It was upsetting for me at first but after a while it was normal and I stopped noticing.

I remember how he couldn’t jump, run and swing my littlest sister round and round and round. I remember all the things he did with me but couldn’t do with my little sister. She has never had a dad who could do all those things he did with me, I was lucky. She has only known a dad in a wheelchair, on sticks and in pain. I wish I could give some of my happiness from when I was little to her because then she would have her turn too.

Today I am the proud one. Proud to have such a father. Someone so talented, someone who still makes me smile. I may not live with him but I still miss him everyday and I still help with the things he can’t do at home. My dad may be disabled, he may have been disabled before his forties but he is still the person I look up to. He always will be.

I put my arm around dad’s, he smiles and leads me to a pair of big old oak doors. I hear the click of his walking stick which has a white ribbon wrapped around it. I look in the mirror for the last time, I look so very grown up in the white dress, veil and tiara. 

Now, dad’s not the only man in my life, there’s another but I will always be daddy’s girl, daddy’s little princess. 

The church organ starts playing and with dad at my side, together we take the first step up the aisle.


Bet x

Published by Betony

- Speech and Language Therapy Student - Vegan - Wannabe blogger - Urban Decay Addict - Harry Potter Obsessed - Disney Fan - (very) amateur dressmaker -

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