Daddy's girl

by

She sits with smudged blue cheeks beside daddy with his huge hands. Hands bigger than the plates mummy washes every night. Hands with wiry hair that doesn't end or start from arm to knuckle. Daddy's little girl in an AFL top and CFC on her cheeks. Asking questions quietly so he leans in. His bushy ear brushing her blonde kiss curls as he listens. She is safe and sound bedecked and loved. She is wanted and paraded by the man with big hands. He holds her close in the crowd and when she can't see, up we go, above everyone else, hold on tight, patting his bald spot she giggles. 


Don't tell mummy. More giggles. Daddy's hands hold her tiny legs tight, her sneakers lighting up as they rest either side of the man's broad shoulders. Safe and sound. Sound and safe. The roar of the crowd and daddy pointing down to the pitch below. This is their time together, though at 8 it still doesn't make sense. But she likes the face paint and the hot dogs and Daddy. It's loud and everything moves fast and one minute daddy is shouting and the next he's looking up at my toes. I'm still here. 

We are a sea of blue and white. Every weekend daddy wraps her up and up we go. It's their time together. Hold on tight. Don't tell mummy.