Like Father, Like Daughter

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Like Father, Like Daughter

Like Father, Like Daughter

"The vision that was planted in my brain still remains...within the sound of silence."

It's a Simon & Garfunkel kind of day. A day that's not spent grieving, but quietly celebrating something that's physically gone. Internally, it lives on -- in our actions, our words, and in our hearts.

To say that I was Daddy's little girl would be a complete lie, as I barely knew the guy that donated to half of my genetic being. He was sick by the time I was five and had rested his wings by the time I was nine. The four years in-between are a little fuzzy and quite possibly intentionally fuzzy.

From what I hear, my dad lit up every room he entered. That light might have been coming from a spark which later turned into a four-alarm fire that burned the entire place down, but my dad wasn't someone who could be easily forgotten. That's what I hear, anyway.

Recently, my mom was talking to me about the stubborn trait that my siblings and I were fortunate enough to inherit, when she asked if I remembered the times when my dad would stop talking for an entire week after someone upset him. "Mom," I said, "I don't remember when Dad stopped talking for a week -- I remember when he stopped talking for four years!" It was a bad joke, but we both laughed anyway.

The 'voice' that I remember was an automated, slightly creepy dictator known as "Perfect Paul." It was really ironic that my dad chose that particular computerized voice when he lost his speech, because my oldest brother, Paul, has always been quite the...uhhh...character. Since the day he was born, my brother has been more openly imperfect than the rest of us, although he was probably just ahead of the game when it came to letting the demons out. The rest of us were stuck internalizing our problems instead, which may or may not have worked out for us (it would depend on which sibling you talk to. Some of us are still too stubborn to admit that we have any issues).

As time goes on, I hear more and more stories about how my dad and my mischievous brother, Paul, are carbon copies of one another. They butted heads and exchanged some pretty nasty words, when my dad could still yell, but at the end of the day, I think this was all due to the fact that these two alpha males were much too similar.

The older I get, the more I am finding my own voice. I can't sit back and watch the world go by without throwing in my own two cents, when needed. I make hasty decisions and follow my heart, despite what everyone else tells me to do. There are many times when I wonder what my dad would have done in similar situations. More times than not, I tend to think that he would have been on my side. He would have taken the same, off-beaten path and stayed true to his own soul.

Among other things that reside in the back of my mind, I learned from my dad that your wingspan and lifespan have little to do with the altitude you can reach. The more navigating I do, the more I realize how much direction this pilot has given me.

Thanks for the wings, Dad. You are loved and missed.

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