Some girls grow up a princess and some grow up with blisters.

Either way, I suppose there’s still a place for the latter to be “Daddy’s Little Girl,” but when you’ve been spreading cow manure since the buttcrack of dawn while your sister has spent yet another Saturday sleeping in, it can be hard to feel like it. Apparently, housework begins at a reasonable hour.

Most might think as the youngest I grew up a princess, but, no, that crown goes to my parent’s eldest.

The whole family even enjoyed getting in on the act- when we visited my daddy’s older brother I got to haul logs because my older sister simply sat down on the job — citing an excuse involving the delicacy of her nails. A visit with my daddy’s youngest brother was the same- my sister learned waterskiing while I learned from my electrician uncle how a circuit breaker box works. An apparent “magic trick” to some, my kids are learning now at the ages of thirteen and ten.

My daddy is the type of work-of-holic whose obligations sometimes become the obligations of others, and when I was a teen, he decided to add general contractor to his list of professions.

You guessed it — this meant the girl he gave footballs to every Christmas was roped into swinging hammers, painting, and making several unpleasant trips to the dump — the phantom stench of which does not leave your nose for days.

It wasn’t all bad. I learned a lot of valuable lessons.

For instance, when my now ex-husband couldn’t stay out of the house, a friend and I easily changed the locks while consuming more than a few glasses of wine.

I also learned a lot about my dad.

Working on his “project houses” became a way for us to connect like we hadn’t before. I always knew I got my love for the woods, sports, and animals from my dad — but never had I realized the breadth of similarities between us. I came to understand more and more the reason we hadn’t always seen eye- to -eye was exactly because of those similarities.

Through working together our stubbornness was on full display — neither wanted to give up when an individual project within the home wasn’t working out. Or on an idea we thought might be better.

I realize now, my daddy not only could use the help, it was a chance for him to get to know me too. It was a chance for him to meet my teen years head on and shape integrity into my work ethic.

Whenever I turn in my notice to leave a job, almost every manager I have ever had has begged me not to leave, and my first was no different.

Years later, while working at another job than my first place of employment, the manager from my first job was a customer. In conversation, she mentioned she had chosen to fire her daughter over me. Faced with having to cut someone, as the newest employee it was apparently felt among other management it should have been me. At the time, I was told her daughter needed a break from working with all of her other obligations and quit.

I thank my daddy for instances like that — where I have been blessed because I put into action those long ago lessons he taught me.

At this same job, I was encouraged to go into their management program, which I did.

Though whether in a management position or not, this job began my, as yet, unending role as management’s go-to-girl for advice and training.

I never mind, I just see it as further proof my daddy’s lessons rubbed off on me. Which is all you can really ask for as a parent- even if you can’t always agree.