It’s summer 1964, time to show my daddy some love.

I chose a full sheet of cardinal-red construction paper for my card stock, and folded it in half. My nine-year-old self selected this snapshot of me sporting my favorite, mom-made dress–a pink and white striped frock with poppin’ pink buttons–and all set to enter the sanctuary of our home church, Virginia Heights Baptist Church on the corner of Memorial and Grandin Roads, Roanoke, Virginia.

Supplies acquired, I took a ruler and drew two lines at the top of the construction paper before writing in my newly perfected script “Happy Father’s Day!”. The photograph was carefully glued beneath.

Eight lines of poetry were added to the card inside:

Decades have passed and I am no little girl. But I remain convinced that in the whole wide world my Daddy was the best.