My sister and brother-in-law went to visit my niece and her new husband across the state today. They had several things they were taking to my niece, including her wedding photos and a whiteboard organizer that my brother-in-law had built for his daughter. While they were there, he was also asked to help the two of them with a few small projects around their apartment.

The idea that my niece wanted her dad to help hang pictures and build a whiteboard isn’t because she is incapable of doing these things herself. It might take her (or her husband) a bit longer since they don’t have as much experience with these projects, but I have no doubt either one of them could handle the tasks.

It got me thinking about my own dad coming to help me with things around whatever home I lived in at the time. Whether I was married or not, Dad always helped me with something. Many times it was hanging something he built for me – a quilt rack, a shelving unit – other times it was to help with whatever project I had created, which often meant hanging pictures. As I thought back to times my dad has lent a hand I realized there really was no point in my life in which he stopped doing so. Even after I began crafting some small woodworking projects myself, my dad continued to build things for me. Even after I moved so many times that I was forced to hang my own pictures, that didn’t stop Dad from helping when he was there to do so.

Even now, at 50 years old, I recently asked my dad to make me a writing table – a project I could probably figure out, although certainly not to the caliber of my dad’s craftsmanship – but still, I asked him. Just like my niece, it isn’t that I’m not capable, that I’m not smart enough or patient enough or strong enough. It’s just that I want Dad to do it.

Throughout my childhood, my dad was my provider and my protector. He helped me with so many things growing up I couldn’t begin to count them. In many ways, it was how he showed us he loved us – he helped. And still to this day, my dad is there to help – whether any of us need advice, a listening ear, a roll of quarters for the laundry machine, extra clamps to help hold our project in place, sharing financial or medical experience, or making something for us that we could buy or perhaps make ourselves. And every time he helps, he is telling us how much he loves us.

I haven’t asked my niece, but I suspect we both share the same hope. I hope I’m never too old to be my dad’s little girl, and never too old for him to help me see his love.