For my Dad, on the day of your swearing in

Not so long ago, on a rainy drive home to Tauranga, Annie and I were having a conversation about how we would’ve done well to just have a good Dad.  We talked about how you are not a good Dad; you are an exceptional one.  We both cried during that conversation. It’s so hard to put into words who you are to us.

I couldn’t be prouder of you as you become Judge Hollister-Jones today. You’re brilliant, Dad, you’re challenging and bright and every bit deserving.

You’re actually even more than that.

You’re the man whose shadow sat by my door reading the paper each night when I was seven, because I was too scared to fall asleep without knowing you were close by. My whole life, your strong and steady presence has made me feel safe.

You’re the man who didn’t care that I wore boys board shorts with stripy toe socks and cut all my hair off at age 11. You thought I was spunky. You were right, I was. I am.

You’re the man who was perfectly happy with me being a vet at age six, a builder at age nine, a lawyer at age 12, a musician at age 16, and some sort of social-justice seeker now. You have never made me feel like being a girl confined me or made me less than. There have never been any glass ceilings under your roof. You have believed in every dream alongside me and Annie and Katie. You are a champion for women in the workplace. You are a believer in their capacity to lead in the Church. You don’t fear difference. 

You’re the man and the lawyer who marched his youngest child to music school while he researched fashion schools for his second child, who was currently studying (and actually doing quite well at) law. You’re the one who packed my guitar in the car when I was adamant I didn’t want to write or sing any more. I’m so glad you did.

You’re the man who dances in the kitchen in his pyjamas to Feliz Navidad every Christmas Eve. Who always told me that the best way to think good thoughts falling asleep was to think about Jack Russell puppies. You don't take yourself too seriously, and as a result neither do I, which I am eternally grateful for (if I took myself too seriously it would’ve been a tough 23 years to get through.) 

You’re the man who came home early from work, sat with me on the couch and just cried, after my first big heartbreak. You’re the man who, alongside my wonderful Mum, wrapped your arms around me and prayed with me on the mornings where I didn’t feel like I’d cope with high school. You’re the man who walked into press conferences and interviews right next to me when I had to face the unthinkable.  For that, I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to articulate my gratitude.

You’re also the man who tells me when enough is enough. Who believes in me to be better. Who puts me right when I’m wrong and challenges me when I need to be challenged. You’re the reason I slammed so many doors as a teenager. You’re also the reason I came out from behind them.

You’re the man who put me on the plane here. Who makes me feel brave and capable. Who has spent my whole life loving me into someone who seeks justice, who loves fully, who values integrity. You’re the man who raised up the fierce in me, who sparked up the sass and made it stay.

So, my Dad, my champion, my friend; you are an exemplary individual in and out of the courtroom. I know that your judgments will be sound. I know that you will always seek to do good. But you are not a good Dad, and nor will you be a good judge. You will be an exceptional one.