As I was writing the blog-eulogy in the last post, there was something I did not stop to consider. You see, I’ve always compartmentalized my parents: Mom was creative, sensitive, thoughtful; Dad was technical, practical, logical. I really did believe that all my creativity came from Mom, and Dad definitely blessed with things like a knack for math and a keen interest in the sciences.
But I’ve left something out and I need to correct that. You see, I’ve never met anyone who could tell a story quite like Dad. I’ve actually been to the barber shop of my grandfather who passed before I was born, I was on the train when Dad was conscripted and got his assignment, I was there at that wedding when he laid eyes on her.
If I’m really honest, if it weren’t for Dad teaching me to be a storyteller, I don’t know if I’d ever have written this blog at all. Maybe he, too, contributed to my destiny as a writer. Thanks, Dad, it’s the best gift you left me.
