understanding the workings of our world.
But he gave another lesson, the importance
of being present. He took time to play cards
with me, his youngest child, cook all of his
children breakfast and exist in those precious
moments with us.
That’s what fathers did, right? Daddies
sat at the head of the table at dinner every
night. Daddies played games like cards and
chess. Daddies cooked pancakes. Daddies
kept demeaning jobs to keep food on the table.
Daddies only slept three to four hours a night.
No, they don’t. Only later would I learn that
those traits did not happen with all fathers.
Matter of fact, the absence of my paternal
grandfather at the head of his household
probably guaranteed the presence of my father
at the head of ours. My father made a choice,
and I’m eternally grateful for and humbled by
it.
When analyzing my childhood, it never
occurred to me to attach the word “sacrifice”
to either of my parents. I just bopped around
living my life not realizing how utterly tired
and weary my father must have been. Yet, he
maintained a quick wit, an easy smile, and a
bottomless supply of patience and love.
My father’s jobs didn’t matter. That title
was irrelevant. The title that they denied him
didn’t build his legacy. The one he embraced
– Father – did. When his heart gave out my
senior year in college, we, his children, stood
as a testament to the man he was.
We are the legacy that endures.