This morning, like so many mornings now, I woke up thinking about my dad. Happy Father’s Day, by the way. I still miss him. Maybe even more than I did months ago, which is strange because I thought it would get easier. This morning I kind of smiled when I thought about how I viewed him as I was growing up. When I was little, I thought he was the greatest man alive. He was tall and strong with a deep rich reading voice. His stride when we walked together was twice my height. When I got older, teenage years, I thought he was great because he knew everything about everything. He was incredibly smart. My brother and sisters and I know way more about the Japanese Maple and other various trees than we will ever be able to use. And as an adult I learned about his character. His high standards and ethics. I learned about the sacrifices he made for his family. The loyalty to his friends. His generosity toward everyone he knew.
Maybe, maybe… I thought he was the greatest man alive because he was. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with a girl thinking that.
