The Favourite Daughter!

I cannot remember when it was first said to me exactly, but I can remember the location. My dad and I were driving up to a forest walk near Ringsend high in the mountains with our black Labrador Monty in the back. 

He was singing as he drove and then he turned to me, out of the blue, and informed me that I was his favourite daughter! As a very young primary school pupil, this new status felt epic indeed. It was a title that had never been bestowed upon my other siblings so I felt exceptionally honoured. If my siblings resented my new title they never showed any evidence of this. Perhaps the baby of the family is normally treated with undue deference. They do seem to get away with much more than their older siblings. Parents know that this is their last offspring and generally place fewer demands on them than they did on their older children. 

I did not gloat over my siblings as my father’s favourite daughter. Instead, I held the privilege of that station close to my heart. As a child, there are so many things that hurt you, bullying, failures, slights, being ignored or self-doubt but this unexpected title acted as a mighty shelter to a rather supersensitive and easily bruised child.

It took me far too long to work out what my father’s words actually meant. I was his favourite daughter indeed but I was also his only daughter as I have only brothers.  No wonder my brothers did not resent it, they had worked that all out years ago. It makes me smile now when I remember how much my title of “favourite daughter” meant to me.

I am grateful for so many other things my dad taught me. He stressed the importance of honesty, having integrity, being free of prejudice and the importance of being really curious about everything.  I now devour books and love the sea as he did. I still respect so many of the principles he strove for his entire life.  I loved the way he let me wrestle with him on our landing at home and made me, a small child, believe that I could defeat a 15-stone grown man like him.  Okay, he played tricks too but even that I remember with fondness.  When we walked together to school, I wanted him to hold my hand really tightly and to tease me he would deliberately loosen his hold. In later years when I lived abroad, his weekly faxes were the high point of our family life. That distinctive hum of the fax machine and his handwriting appearance brought all of us together as a family to read his words which were full of good humour and insights. I will remain infinitely grateful that he always held my heart tenderly and lovingly. Perhaps knowing you are loved is the mightiest remedy of all.