Love, Dad

Dear Ada,
What do you say about the one for whom you feel everything? What can I say about the girl who sees all the crooked corners and dusty pieces of her father but loves him anyway?
For six years, Ada has been all I've ever needed, all the joy an ordinary life like mine usually denies.
The consumate cuddler, Ada embodies all the traits characteristic of those who share her surname, including her Papa George's gift for wit and her grandma's love of freshly baked bread and sad, weepy movies and music. (She shares her mother's dubious love of slapstick and silly pratfalls, but also the kindness Ann feels for people struggling under the lash of bad luck).
Ada is the most delicate, serene influence in my life--which is why she is so necessary, so right for everything wrong in my life.
Happy Birthday, Ada D., from your wildly admiring dad who cannot sing your praises in the angelic strains you deserve to hear today.