My Father, My Hero: Moment Saved by Pen and Page
One of my earliest memories is of you reading me the Sunday Funnies. I remember you smelled like tobacco, news print and Old Spice aftershave.
The sun poured through our big bow window warming everything it fell upon.
I placed my head on your chest as you read. That enabled me to listen intently to the deep vibration of your voice as well as the beating of your heart.
I felt so safe…so loved. And so happy you were my Dad.
My childhood is full of these moments. Such moments sadly do not often find pen or page.
To this day I cannot recall the content of what you read to me. Instead, I have the more important memory: your voice, and the beat of a father’s heart.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad-E-O!