My daughter wears her mother's necklace and calls me Pappy.
Pappy was her Irish grandfather on her mother's side.
He had a thick, Irish accent.
"Pappy was like a leprechaun, daddy, and so are you,"
she replies to my question of why she's recently taken to calling me Pappy.
(Side note: I'm German, but I can do a pretty good Irish accent that makes her laugh.)
He used to bring her four leaf clovers.
Where he'd find them, I don't know.
Luck of the Irish, I guess.
She has her grandfather's eyes.
Her eyes look nothing like mine.
Or her mother's.
A stereotype Irishman who drank himself to an early death, laughing the whole way.
He was a great man.
It's nice to see him in her eyes.
Photo by Angela Shields. Words by Steve Brian.
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