She did it to me again

The other  night my eight year old daughter made me cry.  She has a way of doing it, without meaning to of course.  I cry, then she cries, a big old tear fest.  My daughter has one trait that she inherited that gets me every time. She tells a story just like my Dad.  Not just the way she talks, but the way she looks.  She and her Pawpaw Jerry were close, they adored each other.  I think my Dad fell in love with her the moment she looked at him with her big brown eyes.  Every chance he had, he wanted her at his house.  He died when she was 3, so I figured she wouldn't remember him much, but I was wrong.  She will still break down crying out of the blue because she misses her Pawpaw Jerry.  Anyway, back to the story, that night we were spending our daily time together and she started telling me about the dream she had the night before.  That's  when she did it.  She stopped looking at me and started staring into the distance, got a huge silly grin on her face, and let loose with a whopper of a tale like my Dad used to do.  The thing is, my Dad would get the same silly grin, and the same goofy smile when he told stories.  If you knew my Dad, you know the look.  The longer she talked, and stared, and grinned, the more I realized that there would always be a part of my Dad that is around me, and for that I am grateful.  Sometimes a good cry is not a bad thing.