A Welder’s Daughter

This one runs deep for me.

I’m the daughter of a welder. He’s spent his life showing up, six days a week, doing whatever it took to provide for our family. And now, at 76, he’s stepping into retirement. Even writing that feels surreal.

I remember the smell of iron in the shop, sweeping floors to earn a little allowance, and learning early on that some weeks were busy and some weren’t. Nothing was guaranteed. You just kept working.

I remember the burns on his arms and thinking how tough he was. I remember bringing him my broken toys, convinced he could fix anything, and honestly… most of the time, he could. To me, he was (and is) one of the coolest people in the world.

What stuck with me most was driving around town with him. He’d point out gates, buildings, and projects he built with his own two hands. And I’d sit there thinking, my dad did that. He left his mark everywhere, quietly, without needing recognition.

So when Ironworkers Local 75 endorsed me, it wasn’t just political. It was personal.

It feels like a full-circle moment, especially right now. As my dad steps into a new chapter, this endorsement reminds me of everything he gave, everything he built, and the kind of work ethic he passed down to me.

It represents the men and women who build our communities with their hands, who show up day in and day out, and who deserve to be seen and respected.

And it reminds me exactly who I’m here to represent.

Dad,

The more I grow and step into my own life, the more I understand what you’ve really given us.

You didn’t just work hard. You built a life with your hands and then turned around and gave that same energy to other people who had nothing to give back.

I watched you as a welder, showing up day after day doing tough, honest work. Long hours, physical work, the kind that wears on you. But you never complained. You just did what needed to be done because your family mattered.

And somehow, that wasn’t where it stopped.

You gave your time to people who were struggling, people who felt forgotten. The homeless, the hopeless, the ones most people walk past. You didn’t just see them, you showed up for them. You served at church, you gave your time, your energy, your heart. You helped anyone you could, whenever you could.

That shaped me more than anything.

You showed me that real strength isn’t just working hard. It’s caring deeply. It’s giving when it’s not convenient. It’s showing up when no one is watching.

And even now, you’re still doing that for me.

Supporting this campaign, believing in me, standing behind me in a way that reminds me I’m not doing this alone. You’ve invested in me my whole life, and now you’re doing it again in such a meaningful way.

The way I work, the way I care about people, the way I believe that everyone matters… that comes from you.

I hope you know how much of who I am is because of who you are.

Thank you for the sacrifices.
Thank you for the example.
Thank you for loving people the way you do.

I love you so much.

Cicely