Today is June 27, 2008. It was 21 years ago today that my dad died.
If my math serves me, I have lived half of my years on this earth without a father.
I got married --and divorced-- without his wisdom. I'm convinced, however, that I would never have wasted those five years with the wrong man if my father had been there to pull me aside and simply ask, 'Are you sure?'
I know he would've been proud of me when I was a sportswriter despite the odd occupation for his youngest daughter.
Now? Ten years into a job that frequently insults my intelligence and hurts my pride?
I'm sure he'd be pleased that I'm financially secure but he'd be worried about my happiness, both professionally and personally. He probably wouldn't say anything. He'd just give me that look that said, 'Are you sure?'
I haven't been sure about anything for a long time, but I frequently ask my dad for advice. At times I think he's nodding when I've made strides to move toward a career that sparks my interest and challenges me.
My dad was never one to give out answers. He preferred his kids to figure it out, just like the geography quizzes he popped at dinner occasionally.
He'd be pleased that I travel, that I'm not sitting at home waiting for a life to come to me. I often wonder how he'd feel if I decided to stay at one of my home-away-from-homes and not return to Chicago.
I really had only begun to know myself as an adult when my dad died, so how could I expect to know him? I would've like to have known him as a young man, to see what kind of man I should meet.
Of that I'm sure.
