I remember when I was a little girl and my dad could dono wrong. It was like he was a superhero.

My sister, brother and I wouldlisten for the hum of his old silver truck approaching our driveway. As he walkedin, we would trample him with hugs and kisses. I would wait for him to sit on thesofa so I could take his shoes off for him. Then, even though he wanted to liedown and rest, he spent time talking and playing with us.

From the timeDad graduated from high school, he'd been an ironworker. He never really mindedhis job, but it wasn't what he was destined to do. Once he realized he wasn'thappy, Dad went to college.

When I was eight, he was working during theday and going to school at night to become a teacher and coach. At that time, Iwas just a little girl who didn't get to see my daddy very much, and I hated it.Somehow, though, he made it through college with good grades, and stayed perfectin my eyes.

When he became a teacher, I was so proud. Now, everybodyelse would have him as a hero, too. As I grew older, I began to realize everybodyelse sees him as just a regular guy. He has flaws and I realized that maybeeveryone didn't like him as much as I did. To them he's "just" ateacher or coach, but to me he will always be the greatest. I don't wait at thedoor for him anymore, but I'm still glad when "Daddy's home!"