I no longer celebrate the life of my father on what is known as ‘Father’s Day’, I celebrate my father every day. A man equally strong and sensitive, private and personable. Coincidentally his initials spell DAD. He is with me in my daily musings. We observe the world with a shared vision. He celebrates my triumphs and consoles me in moments of sadness. Whenever I feel confused or uncertain of my path, I turn to him, this wise and knowing man who uniquely understands me. I am his daughter after all.
My father is omnipresent, yet I miss him dearly. It’s been almost 20 years since he passed away and I feel grateful for every day I spent with him, in the living. As the years without him now outnumber those with him.
It’s my father that filled me with the desire to write, to feel, to love. (My mother too has always been an advocate of following the heart, and for her I am constantly and forever grateful.) Exploring and understanding the world was also passed on from father to daughter.
It is through my father’s constant presence in my life that I always feel safe. I too, am convinced that it’s through my father’s silent guidance that I met my Italian, someone I know he would have been proud to call a friend. One glance at my father’s impressive collection of books ranging from French philosophers to American classics, and my Italian was certain they would have spent many a late night immersed in conversation. I have no doubt.
Today, as I do often, I reflect on the man I am proud to call my father.
