An essay on the passage of time. It was a difficult time for me personally nearly four years ago when my father died. In part because it was my father. In part because of the impact on my mother. In part and probably the hardest for me was that for many years my father and I didn’t see eye to eye. My father was a brilliant man who was drawn to the art, delivery, and love of education. Of teaching people how to ask questions and find a path in the world. As a young child, I remember first and second-grade teachers and student teachers telling me how lucky I was that he was my father. “He was my favorite teacher,” they would all tell me.
It created where there wasn’t a competition. Competition is two sides, and my father to his credit let me complete with an imagery image. He let me struggle with who I was for a long time. Both my parents helped me grow up. I would like to say that it happened very quickly and by age 18 I was an adult ready to take on the world. But I have to be honest I was not an adult at 18, not at 21 and probably in fairness at 24 or 25. I was very lucky during those early years that my grandfather and I could talk. He kept me moving along as well, guiding me and helping me. I know there were times that had to hurt my father, as I listened to the words he had uttered and done nothing. Then my grandfather would say the same thing, and I would galvanize, leaping into action.
I miss dad. As much the sense of humor, the guidance and just being there.
The path to where I am is littered with the guidance of my father. The world I live in, the person I am, shaped by my parents. I am not sure I spend enough time thanking them for not only what they gave me, but what they give me. I am always amazed by my mother. As a person, I wish to become as good a person as my parents were. I strive to be as good a person as I can be. I know I have huge shoes to fill.
But I also know that my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, equipped me with the tools I need to succeed.