I’m not certain if it’s Father’s Day. I believe it is, at least in some corner of the world. Maybe in my corner. I’m confused with dates, and times, and days now. Maybe not just now, but always. I’m fairly certain I felt the same way when Mother’s Day happened, feeling it close, but not knowing if I, or my Mom was experiencing it. I know I was in Copenhagen then. I’m in Oslo now.
I think it’s very beneficial that I write a blog and that I am ridiculously social media connected, as Mom and Dad wouldn’t have the faintest idea where I am any amount of the time. I say, “Mom! Most kiddos, when they get back from the first trans-con trip with a new airline, at least get a phone call asking how it went!” She smartly replies, “I checked with Instagram.” She knew she would just fall into voicemail anyway.
My parents are incredible- not perfect, not always right, and not always wrong. But solid. I need solid. The theory that a girl needs her daddy is tossed around often, and this girl has tested that theory to an extreme. It’s been proved true. My ideals, values, and perception of the world has been shaped and encouraged by a man with the most sensitive soul, the most thoughtful personality, and the silliest sense of humor.
Vietnam with Dad
I’m not the kid that buys my Dad a Father’s Day gift, or Mom, a Mother’s Day card. I forget things like that, along with reading work emails, or where I put my car keys. It might not be Father’s Day, but I think I’m close and personally, I don’t believe any day is a wrong day to appreciate the people in your world that have so formatively shaped who you are, and who you will become. So this is my simple gift to fathers and my Daddy in particular.
At 28, I still come home, with chaos in tow, unsettling any semblance of calm that had existed in the house moments before. Suitcases strewn, and dirty clothes tossed, Dad rarely complains. He still gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, letting me know that he has to change the water in the almond orchard, but he will be back to talk to his Sweet-Sweet. He is always there. I know he will always be there.
He’s the man who tells me constantly how proud he is of me, how smart I am, and how he marvels at my ability to risk. I cry that I am terrified, and if only people could see me shaking in sobs of fear, they would see that bravery doesn’t look so strong. He hugs me, holds me, and rationalizes that I will be ok. He hates my tears, and drama. I know he does, but his love is stronger than any dislike of my emotions.
I am thankful for my parent’s prayers, for my father’s faith, although I may not involve myself so extensively, it grounds him, his marriage, and me. I see it. I admire the man that he is, the way that he lives. Character, over money, possessions, status, or power, is a foundation that is such a gift that I would not trade.
I want to go on, and continue to write. To tell of our trip to Thailand and Vietnam, and about how he sits and listens to me, giving me 100 percent attention. About how he taught me to fly when I was 16. About the things he says that make me laugh, and the way that we can talk about business and entrepreneurship together, but I’m tired. Jetlag, and this life does that to me. But if you take one thing away from this it is that you NEVER can underestimate the presence of a dad in a little girls life. I understand more and more, with every far away destination and new adventure, my Dad is a rare type; quality and incredible.
Daddy, I love you…
Curious. Bubbly. Creative. Curating a life I don't need an escape from and inspiring you to do the same.
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