Sunday, June 17, 2012


I remember quietly sneaking down the halls of the school building, very aware that that was a place not to scream and giggle loudly. Just as any child would hope to do. It was a vacant hallway. A place where the noise echoing off the walls would sound so cool. Yet, also understanding that my dad was behind one of those doors. Teaching. Young impressionable minds. Teaching them about Political Science.

As I tiptoed along I discovered the door to his classroom was ajar. So, I peeked in. Ever so slightly. So curious about what exactly he did. Being 7 years old, or so, I didn't quite know what his job entailed. What it meant to be a teacher. My blond hair fell onto my face as I lowed my head when he glanced at me. I quickly looked up and found a smile on his face. And then, he turned his attention back to his students. And continued to lecture.

I felt my dad's power in that moment. His ability to drawn people in, to mesmerize an audience. The knowledge he shared, his presence, his demeanor, his enthusiasm. Those traits combined had his students spellbound. So much so, that they did not even notice me, watching. For them, my dad was the only thing that mattered in that moment. He was their professor. Someone building their knowledge base, adding another step toward their future.

To me, though, he was simply my dad. A person I adored, deep within my heart. The person who took me for rides in his convertible with the top down, our hair blowing every which way. My dad was the person who sat at home, quietly reading various books and completing crossword puzzles while gently scratching a kitten's tailbone.

My dad was, and always will be, thought of lovingly. Fully. As both an intellectual, someone I admire, and simply as the calm, serene person who made an impact on my life. Beginning that moment, when I watched him in action in the classroom.

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