It was almost dinnertime tonight when my friend Semei--our rather lifesaving Financial Administrator at the office (even running our payments to the electric company)--coasted through our gate on his motorcycle. He's always got such a wide, easy smile. And he had something even better resting between the handles: A cushioned manila envelope with my name in red Sharpie. My dad's handwriting.
I knew it would come! I'm thirty-two now. I live in Africa with my husband and four kids. But every year, my dad sends me a valentine.
This year, it had a purple crew-neck women's tee in my size (can't get new ones here) and even some neutral lipstick and gloss (thanks for the help, Mom!). Even better, there was a sparkly pink card inscribed with my dad's characteristic mix of lowercase and capitals. They say he is "so proud" of me.
(Sniff.)
Love you too, Dad.
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