What I Carry With Me

A letter to my dad.

Photo by Melissa van den Broek

You’re in my earliest memory.

It was nap time. You sat out in the hallway in your big black leather computer chair, reading a thick fantasy novel.

I’d start giggling, and you’d peek up from your book and say, “Go to sleep!” in a voice that pretended to yell but couldn’t hide the sound of a smile.

That only made me giggle more.

I remember standing in the kitchen one evening when you suddenly burst in with an impromptu air guitar performance.

It lasted just a second or two, but when it ended, I begged you to do it again.

You told me it was a one-time deal. Maybe that’s why I remember it so clearly.

I remember you driving us to Mrs. Winner’s on the weekends for their greasy breakfast platters—bacon, eggs, biscuits, and those hashbrowns shaped like obtuse triangles. They’re still the best hashbrowns I’ve ever had.

Even though it was just a short drive around the corner, I looked forward to it every time. It made Saturday mornings feel special.

I remember Tim - your so-called twin who knew everything you didn’t. You knew half of everything, and he knew the other half. Every time we asked a question you couldn’t answer, you’d say, “That’s something Tim knows.”

It was so silly. I’m pretty sure Tim knew a bit more than half of everything.

I remember cuddling up in your bed while you sat in your computer chair playing Oblivion on the big TV. I don’t know why I loved watching you play video games. I would giggle at all the fantastical words—like “ectoplasm.”

Maybe I felt like I was helping you on your quests. A companion on your adventures.

I remember riding around in your truck, blasting either Christian rock or ‘90s hip-hop. It was a mix of Matthew West, LL Cool J, Fresh Prince, Thousand Foot Krutch, Run-D.M.C., and Third Day.

Take a look at the mountain, stretching a mile high
Take a look at the ocean, far as the eye can see
And think of me.

I still know all the words to so many of those songs.

You didn’t cook often, but when you did, it was always something fun - like your cinnamon sugar toast.

It was my favorite thing to eat on Christmas morning. It still is.

I remember when you and Mom started separating. You’d take me to Monterrey’s every Wednesday. You always asked Lor too, but she never wanted to come. I liked it best that way.

It was the first time I spent real one-on-one time with you. I always ordered the chicken quesadilla - just shredded chicken and cheese. You usually got steak fajitas. We’d devour the chips before our food even arrived.

You told me how surprised you were by how much I talked during those dinners. Maybe I was just excited to finally show you who I was. For you to get to know me.

It’s still my favorite Mexican restaurant. I don’t know if it’s because of the food or the memories. Probably both.

I remember, for my fifteenth birthday, we went to the movies. You let me pick whatever I wanted, and after it ended, we went right back to the ticket booth and bought tickets for another one.

Just me and you, hanging out and watching movies. So simple - but one of my favorite birthdays ever.

I remember when I moved into your apartment, and not long after, I started dating my first boyfriend. I came home crying many times.

One night, I was sobbing in my room, telling you no one would ever love me. That I wanted to die.

You told me I might feel like that now, but there were plenty of people out there for me. And that you loved me. You held me.

You tried to get me to go to therapy. I said no. But you stayed with me anyway. You made sure I was okay.

I didn’t know it then, but I was depressed. It was a difficult period for me, but I never felt alone. You were always around when I needed you.

I remember when you tried to punish me for not having a job at seventeen by making me get up early and go to work with you. It didn’t last long - because you quickly realized it wasn’t a punishment.

I liked spending time with you.

I remember when we moved into the house on Branchwood, and you started asking me for dating advice. I’d help you pick outfits and suggest restaurants.

I loved that you took my opinion seriously.

These are just a few of my favorite memories of us.

I know you don’t particularly love that I moved - not just out of North Carolina, but across the ocean. I know you’d like me closer.

And I know you’ve told me once that you blame yourself. That if you’d been a better parent, if you’d shown more love, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to live so far away.

But moving away had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me - chasing my dreams, exploring the world I’d always been curious about. Finding love.

The hardest part of leaving has always been being away from you. I look forward to our Skype sessions every week, and I love hearing you talk about your beekeeping endeavors, the K-dramas you’ve watched - even the weather.

All of these memories, we’ve made together - I carry them with me everywhere I go.

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

---

A special thank you to Melissa for providing the featured image!