Ella By Ella, 27th Sep 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Personal Experiences

A description of my father - or of maybe any father figure - over the years.


When I was a child, my father was the person I loved best in the whole wide world. He used to work away from home and I only got to see him at weekends. On Fridays evenings, while playing with the other kids in the neighbourhood, I would wait for him to show up at the corner. And when his figure finally appeared in the distance… that was the magic moment: I would drop everything and run as fast as I could to jump in his arms. He had to let go of his suitcase and catch me, then carry me to the house. Fridays evenings were my favourite time of the week. My father smelled of sweat, money and cigarettes. It was a unique smell, I could recognise it anywhere. He always brought me some present, and I couldn’t wait for the two of us to escape to the movies, to the candy store or to the toy store. My mother would get upset because of all the money he spent with me, although it wasn't much. But daddy used to smile and wink at me, and being his accomplice meant the world to me.
Later on, when I grew up and became a teenager, things changed. He moved back home and suddenly wanted to be the present father figure he had never been. That meant giving me orders which I disdainfully disregarded, as not only was I a girl accustomed to have a partnership based on trust with my mother, but I was also shaping my personality. Taking orders is something I was never good at. There were sparks and fights and sorrows on each side during my high-school years. And then, there came my turn to leave home and go to college.
College is a life-changing and character-building experience. A period for growing up and learning not only about Baudelaire and Ionesco, or about Shakespeare and James Joyce, but also about friends and love, about loyalty and betrayal, about joy and tears, about yourself and others. And before you know it, you’re all grown-up and ready to face life on your own.
Years have passed and I now look at him: the young strong man that used to catch me in his arms and make funny faces just to hear my laughter is now a good old man, with gray hairs and trembling hands. He’s just as kind and sensitive as he used to be, only his moves are heavier, his eyesight is dimmer, and his hearing poorer. Roles have somehow been reversed and I'm the one who's now trying to make him laugh, or buy him things. If when I was a child, I loved and admired him just for being my father, now my love and admiration for him are driven by how kind, forgiving, helpful and loving he is.
He taught me how to read, to dance, to listen to good music and to love books. He endowed me with his passion for travels and pictures. He’s the one who showed me that nothing is more important than spending quality time with your loved ones. He’s partly the reason why I am who I am. He’s my father.


Adult, Child, Father, Life, Love, Teenager

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author avatar Ella
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author avatar Songbird B
31st Oct 2011 (#)

Ella, what a really lovely tribute to your father, and what a well written article..
A really special share..

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author avatar Ella
31st Oct 2011 (#)

As usual, a big thank you, Songbird B. :)

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