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My father and I had an interesting relationship. He was the “bad cop” at home, believing that kids need discipline. And, due to his vagaries of temper, some of his “discipline” would go out of control and I was afraid of him most of the time when I was little.
He, however, made sure he spent enough quality time with us. He would come home from work at 6:30 every single evening, and I remember waiting to hear his keys, and somehow knowing/feeling that my best friend was coming home. I loved my dad so much; he was my favourite person.
I remember him walking with me and taking me out for ice cream. He’d order a vanilla ice cream for me, and then he’d tell me there was an angel around. When I’d look away, he’d take a bite, and I’d squeal “Pappa!”. He’d then say it must have been the angel. But his beard would be flecked with ice cream.
I remember singing old songs with him. Dad sang terribly, but then it was always fun to sing with him. I remember my father patiently teaching me financial matters, helping me learn the stock market. Thursday nights were our nights together to talk about banking and saving money.
I remember him taking me to the movies. He’d fall asleep during them since he was so tired, and I’d just lean against him and listen to him snore and feel at peace with the world.
When I was a kid, I always loved to hear stories from my dad. My grandfather had loads of stories to tell me, and that’s how my dad got the interest. He used to tell me stories each night until I slept. I used to make him repeat the stories I loved.
Now, I am an adult, and when I ask my dad to tell me stories he says “I got nothing new to say” or “you can get good stories from the internet”. I really miss those days when even the storytime was so exciting.
I am proud I grew up with an amazing father!
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