There Isn’t Nearly Enough Space
If, while growing up, your father is the living, breathing essence of enigma, it is essentially your destiny to alternately be tormented, teased, and pacified by him – every single day. If, during your adolescence, you are constantly engaged in metaphysical debates with this man, it is plausible that you will frequently find reason to reevaluate your entire life under a philosophical microscope, as he victoriously takes satisfaction in his irrefutable rebuttals (hypothetically, of course). And if, upon attempting to undertake the task of writing a paper tantamount to his person – in only 500 words, mind you – you find it enormously difficult, it may be your express, cherry-picked affliction. It is completely understandable to exhibit feelings of frustration and adoration in trying to explain his many facets concisely. It is also normal to vociferate unintelligible sounds regarding this polygonal man and the paper you have commenced to write about him. And, naturally, it was your own decision. You could have chosen to write about political issues instead.
Well, this man – is my father.
A man with renowned penchants for funk (music) and philosophy, my father never ceases to astonish me. He is the epitome of the adage “Just when you think you know a guy….” He is a scrupulous businessman, a meticulous musician, and a responsible, loving father, giving up his dreams in order to support his family. He is the kind of man who works incessantly for those he loves – and yet, he is not indefatigable. Frequently, he has returned home from work, exhausted and sore. Nevertheless, somewhere, from the deepest reserves of his core, perhaps, he found the energy to spend time with his children – even if that meant serving as a jungle gym for us, in our fledgling years. I am his second eldest child, and as I grew into a teenager, the days of his providing a human playground evolved into his becoming my counselor. I am still climbing all over him, but not as a child at the park – I’m scaling a man who sustains me, allowing me to grow, and touch the skies.
From the time I’d developed signs of cognitive thought, he has always encouraged me to be a free-thinker, allowing me to explore the abstract and to taste the intangible. He placed nothing beyond my grasp. He taught me to read when I was two years old, and since then, the world was mine to explore and alter.
From him I learned lessons such as the virtues of rectitude, responsibility, and unshakeable resolution. My father also emphasized the importance of self-respect. He’d counsel me through my insecurities, affirming that if I’d love and esteem myself, I would be loved and esteemed by others – all lessons I currently carry in my heart, and hope to pass on.
In trying to select topics to cover about my dad, I’ve realized just how much he has done for me.
Reviewing this paper, I’ve also observed that my recapitulation hasn’t come even close to revealing it all.