“Daddy’s Little Girl”

By: Christine Trollinger
Today I find myself musing on the many memories of my childhood and especially memories of my Dad. I remember being little enough that my father would dance with me singing the popular tune of that era, called “Daddy’s Little Girl”. I would stand on the top of his shoes as we glided around the living room floor, pretending we were in a grand ballroom.
How I loved to dance with my father and pretend I was the Belle of the ball. But suddenly, one day I could no longer dance. One April morning in 1955, I awoke to raging fever, pain and muscle contractions. My father scooped me up into his arms and rushed me into town to our little hospital. The diagnosis was one, which struck fear in the hearts of every parent and child during that time of year. Polio had come to our little ballroom and life would never be quite the same.
As we lived far from any major city, our little hospital was ill equipped to deal with polio patients. I rapidly began do decline. Although I was supposedly unconscious, I can remember hearing the doctor speaking to my parents and telling them I would not live through the night. At that moment, my little eight-year-old mind began to pray the Angel Guardian Prayer…”There are four corners on my bed, there are four angels round my head. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the angels my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Suddenly, there in that dismal hospital room, angels surrounded me. I remember their beauty and how my guardian angel reached down and touched me, and told me I would be fine again one day. My life would be changed, but I would not die from the illness that was racking my body.
The next thing I remembered was my dad, sitting beside me and singing to me hour after hour…”Daddy’s Little Girl” became his fight song. A song to cheer me up, a song to help me make it through the night, a song from his heart, which echoed to mine through all of the pain.
You're the end of the rainbow, my pot of gold,
You're daddy's little girl to have and hold.
A precious gem is what you are,
You're mommy's bright and shining star.
You're the spirit of Christmas, my star on the tree,
You're the Easter bunny to mommy and me.
You're sugar you're spice, you're everything nice,
And you're daddy's little girl.
You're the end of the rainbow, my pot of gold,
You're daddy's little girl to have and hold.
A precious gem is what you are,
You're mommy's bright and shining star.
You're the treasure I cherish so sparkling and bright,
You were touched by the holy and beautiful light.
Like angels that sing, a heavenly thing,
And you're daddy's little girl.
God’s amazing grace came with that beautiful song. One day, I began to recover from the worst of the illness and was sent home, crippled but alive. We could not afford big city hospitals and so our little home was quarantined. Through it all, my father never left my side. Hour after hour, day after day, my dad was beside me. He read everything he could find about Polio and treatments, which might strengthen my ravaged legs. From our small town library, dad found a book which was to change the course of my life. It was the autobiography of Sister Elizabeth Kenny, entitled “And They Shall Walk.”
Dad contacted the Sister Kenny Institute, to learn how to do the therapy and doggedly began working with her methods to bring my legs back to life. The therapy consisted of stretching exercise and hot, packs, which burned like fire. I can still remember his big strong hands working with those Hot packs. His gentle hands were red from the heat and as I would cry out in pain, Dad would cry with me and promise me it would be better, all the while singing our battle song to keep me strong and see me through the pain.

When I could not stand the pain of having even light covers touching my body, daddy build a special cage out of chicken wire which formed a frame around my bed, so I could stay warm but the blankets would not touch me and cause me more pain. Dad slept on the floor beside me and never let his tiredness or worries be seen. His ever-present laughter, and faith in God, was our constant companion throughout that terrible summer. Finally his effort began to make the difference. Slowly but surely I could once again stand. Now we began our little ballroom dance with earnest. Balancing me on the top of his feet, he would teach me to walk once again, just as he had taught me how to dance. And of course the song was always the same…”Daddy’s Little Girl” which he sang with relish and joy each step that we took together. And the day that I stood and walked into his arms unaided, well…I know that song was in both of our hearts.
By the time school rolled around again, I was able to walk and to return to a normal life. My dancing legs would never be quite the same, but for the most part all the muscles had come back with just minor weakness in one leg. Polio is still a part of my life, since I later developed "Postpolio sequelae" , but I will keep on dancing and remembering my fathers strength and faith that God will never let us dance alone…if we trust him to see us through. My father will always be my favorite dance partner in my book of memories.