My Dad

He's always right. Sometimes I can't stand his spiritual wisdom, for it shows me how much of it I lack. For instance, I have much more difficulty practicing what he seems to have mastered with unbearable perfection: "Be honest, be humble, be good, and treat all people with kindness." Easy stuff, right? Well, not really. It would have been easier if I had heard that from the Pope or Madre Teresa. I can't tell my dad "Sorry, I'm only human, I'm not perfect" (which I would otherwise have thought of as perfectly acceptable excuses). It is hard to ignore, without feeling guilty, a father who actually practices what he preaches. That was easier to do when I was a kid; I would listen to him but I wouldn't digest the information. Still, all of that must have managed to go right to my unconscious mind: that's the only explanation I have for the kind of thought processing I've come to develop. Strong morals have been guiding me all along and at the same time, making me feel abnormal in a world where immorality and relativity have become synonymous.

It may sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not. It is true that there were times I wished I had been raised in an ordinary way for the sake of feeling normal, but that's no longer the case. I am extremely fortunate and grateful for being my father's daughter.

Thanks Pa!