If there was someone she had looked up to since she was a child, it was her father. That wasn’t to say literally, the moment she realized she was going to be taller than him. He shrugged it off.
“Well, not everyone can pull off the short look like me, kid.”
She should have enjoyed it, growing up. There was something that told her that some of the other people she knew who hadn’t gotten as tall would have enjoyed her height. But all she could do was look down on her father and remember the days he could pick her up. Those memories were becoming more and more vague in her mind.
She didn’t like realizing the things she hadn’t noticed as a child. She didn’t like hearing some of the things her father said to her now, that she knew he never would have told her before.
“I’ve taught you some bad habits. Ah, well. I guess we’ll both have to work on those.”
If there was someone she admired, that time tried to take from her, it was her father.
While the memories of implicit belief became more and more nostalgic, the admiration stayed the same.
Then the admiration grew.