Father.

When I was younger, my Dad used to come into my bedroom every morning and wake me with a kiss and tell me he loved me.
Then he would go to work.

I love my Père.

The other day, I was in the kitchen doing communications homework and studying French, and he was outside. Trimming the tree. He cut this one long branch down, and I watched him break the smaller branches off it.
Then he did a staff form in our backyard.

I love my Daddy.

I can remember he would go on overnight or weekend or even week-long trips, and I would count the days on my fingers. I had small fingers then. When the day came for his return, I would get so excited.
Then I would sit on the floor all morning and make him a "Welcome Home" card.

I love my Father.

He used to buy me dinosaurs. Taught me to ride a bike. Brushed my hair. Baptized me. Held my hand. Read me books.
Then he loved me.
That was what I liked best.
He loves me.
And I love him.

I love you Dad.
I love you most.
Thank you.
Your Bell.