A number of weeks ago, ironically during the holidays, I became sick and was in great pain. After an ill-fated trip to the supermarket, I returned home in tears. My father was there for me, as he always had been. Along with my mother, whenever I felt down (physically as well as emotionally), he was there with open arms. And as I came in, I fell upon him to comfort my pain. There was just one problem with this picture. No longer was he the towering figure he once was. I found myself not on his leg, like I had been at the age of four, nor at his side, as I had before. Though I thought nothing of it at the time, here I was crying on the shoulder of a man who changed my diapers and put me upon this earth. He obliged me even though he would later admit that in the back of his mind he was thinking, Who the heck is this kid? (in relation to how big I was).

Later I thought, Would this man who was always here, still be here, regardless if I were eight or eighty? I came to the conclusion that though time, feelings, and people change, the same person would carry me through the rest of my life. n