My Dad, my security blanket…

So today was the Father’s day!

Little boss had lots of fun with better half daddy and I had even more fun just watching them…I belive my hubby is the best father I could have ever chosen for my children...He is the most emotional logical man I have ever seen in my entire life...

But that is not what I want to write about tonight.

I want to write about my own Dad, my safe haven, my always cautious Dad…the one that is the true definition of courage (and possibly in that area I disappointed him so much with all my logical and illogical anxieties and fears!!!)

My dad and I have the most interesting relationship. As I grew up and especially in the last 10-12 years, more and more he took the role of a friend, a very wise and truly experienced one.

It is very interesting for me to hear “the always presence protectiveness” in his voice, even in our most casual chats. I remember when I was a teenager it used to make me so irritated. I think at that time what I used to perceive – like any other teenager- was elimination of my freedom. Truly how delusional teenage years can be!

My dad is the one that taught me the definition of “freedom”. I always credit both my parents for it. But in all fairness, my dad was at the core of it. I think I was only 6-7 when he told me that in order to be “free” in mind; one has to know as much as she can…and to know as much as she can, one has to read and gather information with no prejudice.

At that time I really did not understand what exactly he was talking about. But I was very much used to my dad’s method of teaching, always lessons from 5 years ahead – OH the pure torture of math lessons when you are at grade 3 and your dad teaches you the stuff from grade 7 without even realizing it himself.

But I understood the punch line of his lesson: I have to read and I can read whatever I like to….and that became the biggest hobby of mine since the early childhood. Still to this day, with all the fatigue and exhaustion, I read books all the time. I became very fast reader and as I am blessed with a very good memory, I can almost repeat the favorite sentences of the book that I read.

All those reading were / are grate topics of conversation between us. One of my fondest memories of my childhood is our weakly trips with my father to “book district” in our hometown. We used to spend so many hours there, go up and down, pick up books, brows them, buy them and then come home. That was priceless….

In a world that freedom of thought is not so much valued; my father showed me the true value of it. He made sure his daughter question EVRYTHING and EVERYONE, even if that meant questioning him….a very pleasurable hobby of mine I may add!

He equally engraved in me the love of history…and as a result of that my obsessive fascination with historical documents, monuments, museums, European cathedrals and even famous graveyards!!

I still can remember the many hours that I, as a teenager, forced my parents to walk with me in the streets of Paris because I just HAD to see every corner of that historical world!!!

I absolutely LOVE conversing and that is something that my mom could never understand – being a very silent person- and my dad could always cherish.

I think my ability of debate and the art of lively carry on a conversation for a very long time is the greatest gift that he blessed me with – both thanks to his gene pool and his training…

I have been told so many times in my life that I could have been a grate court room lawyer. I always thought that is a compliment with a danger attached to it – well I really do not have such a high regard for lawyers personality!!

I am a very good debater. I have a sharp mind when I talk and converse. I can feel the rush of adrenaline and my mind works like a grate chess player and can see different angles of the argument or the topic. All of it truly is in his gene as well as the extensive training that I got every single day when I was growing up.

My dad and I can talk…talk and talk. The topic can be anything from an article of Time magazine, a News from the BBC, something that a relative said, our latest readings, my mother and how she is always silent, our ideas about logic and emotion…well that one is a never ending debate.

You see, -we are in a tug of war there. After all my father is a logical being to the core and I am a sponge of emotion…or at least that is what I thought in my superficial observation…Oh how superficial I was indeed!

For the first time in my entire life, I saw my father cried when my son was born.

Possibly 10 minutes before the actual action began, he came in the delivery room and sat beside me and very gently rubbed my arm. My eyes were closed and my body temperature was dropped and I was shivering because of the shock of the pain. The nurses were trying to bring my core temperature up. So I was little bit out of it. The gentleness of the touch was so much like my mother’s touch – my husband and my mother were present for my entire delivery from the beginning to its glorious end.

I opened my eyes and I saw my Dad’s face, close to my bed, looking unbelievably worried. He told me one sentence: “I wish I could take your pain instead of you” and then he chocked and left the room.

The next time that I saw him, was possibly 10 minutes after little boss was born. The doctor and nurses were all done with me and I already forgot about all the pain. The room was almost dark as that was my only request about the delivery room and truly the staff accommodated me so much. They made the room as dark as possible and during the action used a few spot lights where they needed.

In that dark room with my son in my arms, my father sat beside me, brought his face close to my head and just cried…he mumbled some words that were not understandable. I think for the very first time in his life, my always talkative dad was absolutely tongue tide – so opposite of my mother. She was extremely chatty at that time. Truly I thought I am in a parallel universe.

I never forget that moment. Right there and then an “Opa” was born – Opa is the name that my son calls my father (which is German for grandfather and means “old papa”) and Oma is the name that he calls my mother (German for grandmother and means “old mamma”).

Opa is totally different with little boss. He turns to another human being. He is a ball of emotion. My father never was a person who shows his emotion, especially verbally. I mean it is only in last 10- 15 years that in response to my “I love you Dad”, he will reply his “Me too, me too”. Now Opa tells his grandson “I love you”, “My dear, my sweetheart”, “The apple of my eyes”, “the joy of life”, “My joy” and so many other loving phrases, in 3 different languages….I mean: Way to go Dad!!!!

Their interaction is priceless…needless to say that my son is absolutely, whole heartedly, IN LOVE with Opa….Opa is the ultimate fun…when there is Opa in the room, we do not shine at all!!!

Oma is also in a parallel universe with my son, considering that the ONLY PERSON in the entire world, that she is very talkative and chatty with, is the little boss. I mean Oma talks and talks and talks to my son (and my very chatty son carries the conversation for a long time in his words of course)....I sometimes wonder where were these people all my life?!

I heard about the miracle of grandchildren. Well this particular one had a genetic mutation affect on my Dad (and my mom!). When I tease him – which I do that a lot – he responds me: “Well my girl, I matured”!

Happy Father’s Day Dad!

You are the best dad for ME, a man with a deep wisdom, a never ending paternal love and above all, you are and always will be my security blanket…