Photo by Jake Nackos on Unsplash

Just six months ago, she had said something that stung. “He’s just like you, Dad.”

How could he be just like me? I was a surgeon who helped save lives. He worked for a parasitic Silicon Valley company. I took her hiking and camping. The most outdoorsy thing he ever did was a walk in the park. I drank scotch. He was a winey. I played baseball, and he knew a lot about it, because of his interest in fantasy baseball. “Like me, indeed!” I grunted.

Was she blind? I mean, I know they say love is blind, but she was taking it too far. Perhaps, she wants him to be like me, I mused. “She just wants you to like him, Honey,” my wife patiently explained, every time I complained.

Today, I saw her smiling. Not just smiling, but beaming. It was the kind of smile that she couldn’t suppress. I know, because I had seen it before, each time I gave her a hug, or told her I was proud of her. I wondered what had prompted the smile today.

“He asked me to marry him, Dad,” she gushed, as she ran into my arms for a hug.

I finally understood what she meant. He could make her smile, just the way I always had, and still do. I suppose that’s a little more important than his job, hobbies or drinking habits.

I didn’t have to say anything. At that moment, as I hugged her, she knew I was genuinely happy for her.