My father

By , Evanston, IL
The waves crashes against the jagged rocks like a professional baker
pounding bread dough. The powerful sun ray glinted off the rolling
surface of Lake Michigan and impaired my father's and my eyes.

We found ourselves walking on the familiar Northwestern university campus,
the very same campus where my father recieved his master degree from.
Walking at my side was the man I called "Dad". He was wearing his
purple Northface jacket with his usual jeans.

My father was sporting a short haircut and was clean shaved.
Many people have claimed that we look just alike.
While we were walking on the picturesque path, my father was reciting
his exciting travel stories regarding a trip in which he had just went on.

While listening to his remarkable travel stories, the only thing that was
in my head was the fact that he had to catch his next plane within
a few hours, again. Nodding to his stories, I wanted to question him
which meant the most to him: his children or his job.

Before we made the round trip around the Northwestern lake,
my father pulled out his wallet and gave me my significant allowance.
When we got to the parking lot, my father made sure I understood
how much he loved and cared about me.

He then left to O'hare Airport to catch his next plane to wherever his job
takes him. Only leaving me a lot of money and a hole in my heart.
Even though my father is a great, wealthy dad who really cares about
his children.

I sometime wish that I have a father who would stay home most of the time.
Then the word "Dad" would have a stronger meaning.





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