“Uppy, please.” My 6-year-old, who’s taller than many 8-year-olds, looks up at me with chocolate brown eyes and smiles.

“Sure, Baby.” I stoop down. Wedge my hands under her armpits, stand up, and lift.

She gives a half-jump and shoop! She’s in my arms. Her arms go ’round my neck. If she’s tired, her head rests on my shoulders.

Right there. Right then. I understand everything about my role as a father.


“Uppy, please.”

“Sure, Baby.” I lift Lil Bit into my arms as we leave my parents’ home.

Oma smiles and teases, ” I don’t know why you even buy that girl shoes. Her feet never touch the ground. Her daddy carries her everywhere.”

Lil Bit snuggles in and we both smile at her. After all, we all know Oma was a a 6-year-old girl herself once. Even though she kids…she understands.


Right here. Right now. Everything is right in my world.

Right here. Right now. Everything is right in my world.

“Uppy, please,”

“No, Baby, I need my hands free for groceries.” This is may be the only time and place, I’m able to turn her down.

I know most of the time, there’s no reason for me to carry her. Still, I know the day is coming when I won’t be able to swing her over my head like a kettlebell to plop her down on my shoulders.

The day is coming when she’ll be too long to rest perfectly in my arms.

The day is coming when she won’t want to ride piggy-back with Daddy. So until that day comes, the answer will remain the same.

“Uppy, please?”

“Sure, Baby.”