Well, friends, today was filled with accomplishment! I managed to attend meetings, think up some good ideas, think up some terrible ideas, take a kid to the doctor, secure a case of Prime, drive the children about, get my husband to drive the children about some more, finish up the talent show magic performance practice with my son and his friend and I officially accepted my acceptance into Johns Hopkins University.
I told you I'd mention JHU in every Yoke for a very long time.
I do wish I could tell my Dad all about this. And then I wish I could hear him calling his brothers to tell them all about this. I always loved to eavesdrop on him sharing my good news with my Uncles. It made me feel so notable and newsworthy--like hearing him talk about me to the two most important men in his life gave me even more credibility. I know it is silly. But I know he'd be proud of me and excited for me.
My dad always believed in my writing. When I switched my major from architecture to journalism, I thought he'd be disappointed; instead, he called my uncles and sent them copies of my first published article in the Temple News. He talked to me about career ideas. He lobbied for me to get an internship at Woman's Day magazine. He told me always that I could write for myself and on my own. He encouraged me to carve my own career path.
I really miss him in these moments.
I know I could talk to him like at his grave or to his picture or something equally bizarre. But, it isn't the same and over the years all this talking into thin air has lost its charm. The best I can do is just acknowledge how much I wish I could share this all with him, know that he'd be proud, believe he is watching somewhere and remember all the things he taught me.
He always taught me to read every day. He also taught me that sometimes I don't have to try so hard--like if a word or a sentence doesn't fit, edit it out. He taught me that the best stories start in the middle. And he taught me that everyone has a story to tell--people are interesting and being interested in people and their problems is how you understand the world. He also taught that it is critical to carve out your own way in this life. And that life doesn't stop because you are getting older--you can keep going and changing.
I hate that he won't be around for post-class debates and debriefs. Those spaces he occupied have been hard to fill.
But, I've made some friends who somehow have helped filled the spaces my Dad left behind. My friend Kate is one of those friends. I so enjoy debating politics with her (even though she is terrifying) and I enjoy dissecting science we both read. And Kate also now refers to me a scholar!
This is such an honor. Although I am not sure what being a scholar means, I am sure I will learn!