my father’s daughter, my mother’s hair

october 15, 2025; 11:26am

I am my father’s daughter, but I have my mother’s hair.

I am like my dad in multiple ways. I’ve never been afraid to give someone a piece of my mind, I hate slow walkers, and I’m stubborn as all hell. Years of hearing, “God, you’re such a Helser,” is attributed to having my father’s personality.

While I am my father’s daughter, I love to host a dinner party. My ability and desire to entertain come from my mother. Watching her so effortlessly put together a meal and make people feel so loved and cared for is a talent that I hope I will come to have as I grow older.

I am my father’s daughter in the way he loves the mountains, but no stranger has ever stopped me to ask if I was related to him. While in my hometown, I often get recognized in public as my mother’s daughter. They stop me to tell me that I have her smile or how similar our hair looks, or it can be as simple as,

“Wow, you look just like her!”

I am my father’s daughter in the way that he’s loud and boisterous, but my sharp tongue comes from my mother. When I feel backed into a corner, I snap, and like my mother, I have the hideous ability to say what I know will hurt someone most.

I am my father’s daughter because I would rather spend time outside than watching TV, but much like my mother, I am a sucker for a good Rom-Com (but only if it was made before 2011).

I am my father’s daughter in the way that I dress – I’ve never been very fashion-forward – but when I look in the mirror, I hear my mother’s voice. She reminds me to wear sunscreen to avoid getting wrinkles too young and she gets on me about my posture because “slouching makes you look fat.”

I am my father’s daughter because I go after what I want, but I am my mother’s daughter in the way I criticize myself. I work as hard as I possibly can in efforts to prove myself – to whom, I’m not sure – but it never feels like enough.

I am my father’s daughter for the most part, but like my mom, I hate when someone sees me cry.

As much as I try to fight it, I am my mother’s daughter – and not just when I curl my hair.

I am my mother’s daughter when I play Prince while I clean the house, as well as every time I am running late for something.

I am my mother’s daughter when I hold a baby, when I set a table, when I sign my name, when I stand on a scale, and in the way that I do my best to make sure the people around me get taken care of long before I do.

I am as much my father’s daughter as I am my mother’s.

Like my mother, I find baking very calming, though I never find the time to do it. I fall asleep during movies because I am often so busy that I forget to rest. I keep every hand-written card I’ve ever been given because every once in a while, I open the box I keep them in and read a few to remind myself how much I am loved.

And like my mother, the reason I hate being hugged is because my mother never hugged me.

I have my father’s personality. I have his sense of humor and I share his general outlook on life, but the smaller details that make up so much of who I am come from my mom.

My mom, whose generosity knows no bounds and is wildly misunderstood.

My mom, the person who I am the most afraid of becoming and the person whose approval I crave the most.

This morning, I looked in the mirror and saw my mother’s face looking back at me.

I stood up a little straighter and thought to myself,

“Wow, you look just like her.”

Love always,

Kristin M.

love always, kristin