It is my father's birthday today.
My father.
I haven't written about him so much in the past. I think it's because...it's probably because...well, maybe not so much this or that but just...
There possibly isn't any real answer to this. What are my earliest memories of my father? That he introduced me to the sea. I had held his hand at Juhu beach as a little girl when we were wading into the sea one night and I thought I could walk over to the moon over that sheath of light that shone on the waves.
When he took me to the docks early in the morning to see ferries and wharfs.
When we would picnic on the tiny beach in Aquaba and against an orange and pink sea, he would try and teach me math.
When we went to Egypt by ship.
When he, despite my resistance, made me read Moby Dick.
When he got me the most precious storybook that, for better or for worse, I have scripted my love life on: The Little Mermaid.
In college, I often wondered why my father would ever like me. I was certainly not smart or wise. I was not into selfless living or compulsive giving. I certainly did not think that my country really needed or could benefit from my sacrificing anything.
But my father - he filled me with questions and then, with every story and every book, he filled me with answers.
He really is the person then, who truly has given me everything.
Happy birthday, Papa.
My father.
I haven't written about him so much in the past. I think it's because...it's probably because...well, maybe not so much this or that but just...
There possibly isn't any real answer to this. What are my earliest memories of my father? That he introduced me to the sea. I had held his hand at Juhu beach as a little girl when we were wading into the sea one night and I thought I could walk over to the moon over that sheath of light that shone on the waves.
When he took me to the docks early in the morning to see ferries and wharfs.
When we would picnic on the tiny beach in Aquaba and against an orange and pink sea, he would try and teach me math.
When we went to Egypt by ship.
When he, despite my resistance, made me read Moby Dick.
When he got me the most precious storybook that, for better or for worse, I have scripted my love life on: The Little Mermaid.
In college, I often wondered why my father would ever like me. I was certainly not smart or wise. I was not into selfless living or compulsive giving. I certainly did not think that my country really needed or could benefit from my sacrificing anything.
But my father - he filled me with questions and then, with every story and every book, he filled me with answers.
He really is the person then, who truly has given me everything.
Happy birthday, Papa.
Comments
If possible please convey my regards to him.
-An Anonymous follower