Skip to content 
“It is not wonderful, Dad,” I countered. “It is terrifying”.
Opening his arms to embrace me, he reasoned, “Same thing sometimes”.
Over the course of the next two weeks, I meticulously wrote and rewrote my speech until the edges of the paper were visibly worn down. Dad acted as my dedicated audience, listening to me practice from the couch, pausing in the doorway, and even hovering in the hall while pretending to care for a houseplant he had miraculously kept alive for six years.
Whenever I successfully completed a run-through without glancing at my notes, he clapped with as much enthusiasm as if I had just won a major trophy. Dad possessed a unique ability to make ordinary milestones feel immensely significant, which was perhaps the very reason I was so desperate not to let him down.