In a cozy little house, Daddy's hands were always so big and warm.

He used his hands to scoop up his child in a loving hug during playtime.

With those hands, he fixed toys and mended what was broken, making things work again.

Chop, stir, flip! Daddy's hands were like magic in the kitchen, cooking up delicious meals.

Whenever there were loud thunderstorms, Daddy's hands would hold the child's, chasing away fear.

It seemed like with Daddy around, nothing was ever too scary or too hard to face.

Those hands built forts out of blankets, creating a kingdom for the child to rule.

They were gentle hands that wiped tears away and bandaged scraped knees.

With a pat on the back or a high-five, those hands told the child 'Well done!'

At bedtime, Daddy's hands turned pages of a storybook, voices for each character.

And when the night grew dark, a gentle squeeze from Daddy's hand meant 'I'm here.'

Safe and warm, the child knew Daddy's hands were a symbol of endless love and security.