You know, the best thing my father ever did was believe in me. From the bottom of my heart, I know he always thinks the best of me. I have said this before but it bears repeating: when I was married, I have no doubt in my mind that my father thought I was the perfect bride. That I had my degree, that I chose the marriage for myself and my future, and yes, he thought I was a virgin. And you know, people at the wedding could have said definitively otherwise.
When I had my first speaking role in school, he came early to be in the front row to cheer me on, to applaud loudly at each act, and to be the best Dad in the audience. At the time, I did not know how much of a sacrifice this is – that is, for him to arrive early and sit. Dad doesn't like wasting time, standing in line, waiting for a curtain to draw. He wants to use every spare minute of the day, and he sat for probably half-an-hour before a forth grade production. Just call him super-Dad.
Anyway, Sunday is his day, and I need to remember that. Fatherhood does not end when one goes to college, when one gets married, when one moves to another city.
Well, I don't really feel like writing today. Oh, and sorry for the delay in posting. I was reading The Pool. I have not finished it – I am scatter-brained today, but the language is wonderful. It is rich and detailed. It is wonderful. This is the way to write.
Me, I am scatter-brained today, and I want so much to write detailed, rich entries about my father, about fathers in general.
Indifference is the Opposite of Love
1 day ago