I’m a Daddy’s girl. Always have been. Always will be.Don’t misunderstand. I love my Mom fiercely. She’s one of my dearest friends. But when it comes down to which parent did I turn out like, I’d have to say my Dad. And I’m sure it has a little to do with genetics. But also a whole lot to do with connection. The connection began when I was a little girl.
My earliest memory of my dad is of man dressed in a suit who left early and came home late, always carrying a briefcase. Those were the days when he sold insurance and worked all kinds of jobs in order to afford his Masters in Engineering and provide for our family.
We also have a lot in common. We both misplace things. Forget things. And we are both emotional. I’d like to say we’re in touch with our feelings, but when it comes down to it, we are the criers in the family. We are also known as the talkers. As far back as I can remember, Daddy loved telling us stories.
But not all his stories are meant solely to entertain. In fact, most of his tales have a purpose. Namely, to mold and shape his kids [and now grandkids] with morals and principles that have been passed down through many generations. Someday, maybe I’ll write a book called, “The Long Short Story” or “The Cute Part” where I compile all my Daddy’s allegories. Today, I’ll share just three. That touch on three values my Dad cherishes: Diligence, Learning, and Love.
There was a young man who had never worked a day in his life. His father asked him to go out, find a job and bring back a five dollar bill to show his earnings of the day’s labor. The young man thought he was clever, so he went to his mother and asked for the money. She gave it to him. Then he played cards all day and in the evening returned to his father.
“Here’s the money you asked me to show you,” he said proudly.
“Throw it in the garbage.”
An odd request, but the son complied and turned to leave his father.
“Wait son.” His father had one more assignment. “Work again tomorrow and bring me your earnings.”
The next day, the son returned to his mother for more money. She told him to look elsewhere, so he asked his uncle. His uncle gladly gave him the cash. The son spent the remainder of the day strolling around the city and returned in the evening to show his dad the money.
“Throw it away,” his dad said again, and the son did. “Return tomorrow with your wages.”
And so this went on for days until no one was left for the son to borrow from. At which point he panicked and searched the town over until he found a job cleaning the cages of chickens for a farmer on the outskirts of town. All day long, he worked in the hot sun, sweating and exhausted, and when the farmer handed him his wages, it was a meager one dollar bill.
When he returned to his father and laid the money on the table, his dad said, “Throw it away.”
“What?” The son protested. “How dare you ask me to throw away this money? I’ve worked eight hours in the heat of the day, breaking my back, warding off pecking chickens, and now you want me throw away my wages? I will not!”
“Good.” The father smiled and patted his son on his back. “Now you know the meaning of hard work and the value of money. Don’t throw away your money. And don’t ever throw away what you learned today.”
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My dad is the hardest working man I know. When he last visited us in New York, he fixed a door knob, rewired an outlet, and helped build a stairway to our zip-line platform. Work is not a bad word in my dad’s vocabulary.
The last two stories are more like illustrations where my dad uses his hands to share a couple of life’s truths.
“Guess how I learned my alphabet?” Daddy asked me one day.
“In school?” I guessed.
“Nope. It was from my mother.”
“But I thought you said Badi-Mami never graduated from high school?”
“That’s true, but she taught me a tough lesson that I will never forget when she taught me my ABC’s.”
I smiled and listened to my Dad as he shared how his mother spent hours with him as he used his finger to trace the alphabet in the dirt on the floor. And he wasn’t allowed to get up until he knew every last letter. By heart. That day he knew the value of learning. And the time it takes to learn something well.
Finally, my favorite story is this last one, because it reminds me of how much my dad loves me.
“You see these five fingers on my hand?” Dad spreads his hand out so that none of his fingers touch each other.
“Yes.”
“None of them are alike.”
“That’s true.” I affirm the obvious.
“But if any one of them gets cut, they bleed the same. And they hurt the same. The same with my kids. You three are like the fingers on my hands. You are all different. But no matter what. If any one of you gets hurt, for me it’s the same. The pain I feel is the same. And I care about each of you the same.”
That’s my dad.
He never shows favoritism. If anything, I think he might prefer hubby over me since they are so alike. Both love to build things. And fix things. And both care deeply about relationships.
He is also my sober reminder to never get caught up in my successes and to learn from my failures. He reminds me that I have much to learn. In fact, that I should never stop learning. And he also says, “Good job!” often—which is better than a million bucks to a kid when they hear it from their parent.
Dad. You inspire me!
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So who are you close to? Which caregiver or parent do you connect with? Who did you turn out like?
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“A Man and His Ocean”
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“44 Reasons Why My Parents Still Do!”
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“Cobb Salad, Soweto Gospel Choir, and My Writer Mom”
Thanks Auntie!! I think it was fun to know that both my best friend and I had Ford Engineer Dads!! Two very hard working men indeed!! 🙂
Loved reading about your dad and you. You are both blessed to have each other!
You would totally love him if you met him Steph. He’s like the ultimate people person! I guess it explains my highly extroverted tendencies! 🙂 … I like the “to the fence” bit! 🙂 …need to go look up the definition of “Bohemian” lol!
Awww Raj! I love your Dad too, now. I was raised in an all-female household where my Bohemian Gram was supreme ruler and commander of the known universe (to the fence).