My Father
An Easy Man to Love
My father makes the best scrambled eggs. He uses just the right amount of butter. He can cook almost anything, actually. He’s quite comfortable in the kitchen, having learned well from his mother.
My father taught me that failure is temporary so long as you persist — that you continue to approach success until you stop trying. He showed me the value of honesty and hard work. He was strict and compassionate. He made sure I knew that my best was enough. I could go to him with my tears and my triumphs.
My father could be a bit overprotective. But I knew it was just an extension of his love. He wouldn’t let me use the stove, sharp knives, or even plug in an electrical appliance for the longest time. Even now (and I’m in my forties), he doesn’t like to think of me out on the city streets riding my bicycle.
My father is even-tempered and humble. I’ve never heard him raise his voice. He is thoughtful and gentle. He holds nothing back from his loved ones. Every now and again this has embarrassed me. Once, when I was in high school, we were walking to the subway station together. Noticing that my shoelace had come undone, he promptly knelt down to tie it for me.
Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to inherit my father’s height, but he did give me his long legs and some of his athleticism, so I appear…
