Happy Father’s Day 2015! Â In this second part of our celebration, writers and contributorsÂ Olga Wojtas, Kendra Olson and Coreen Connell share personal tributes to their dear dads…
My Dad The Architect
He draws elevations, front and side.
He ensures that lifts didn’t stop between floors.
He understands building codes and zoning laws.
He fell down a manhole and damaged his thumb nail.
He helped the Royal Observatory to follow the stars.
He combines art and science, science and art.
He puts a roof over our heads.
My father is a teacher, and has been for as long as he has been a father. Heâ€™s spent his life inspiring others to pursue knowledge, to think critically about what they know and are told.Â My father was a PhD student when I was a toddler. As my mother worked during the day and they were not able to afford childcare, he had no choice but to take me with him to lectures. He would later claim that I was very well behaved, looking through my own books while he studied. When I was in grade school he taught young boys with serious emotional disturbances and learning disabilities.Â Some of these boys turned out to excel at mathematics, studying calculus before their eighth birthdays. Fast forward ten years and my dad began teaching English to non-native speakers, most of them students from other countries, whom he helped to get into university. Many of them later went on to become doctors and engineers in the US and back in their home countries. The knowledge they had gained allowed them to go beyond what they thought possible. Indeed, my fatherâ€™s erudition and creativity in the classroom has allowed him to teach students he may not have originally considered. Of course, itâ€™s not only my fatherâ€™s students who feel inspired by him, but also his children.Â Although I donâ€™t think I could ever live up to my dad, I think teaching is something I just might look into doing once I finish my degree.
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
My Father, who art in Australia
Living apart for so long
Doesnâ€™t diminish my love for you
I remember the happy times
The sad times but
You were always there.
The happy days when you showed me how to ride a bike
A blue Raleigh girlâ€™s bike with a basket you mounted on the front
The one you chose and wrapped for my birthday
The one you mended, the flat tyres, the broken bell
And your patience you showed when teaching me to ride
Until I graduated to the Moped, you bought for me.
I remember how I was so embarrassed
Every time we were at a restaurant, the shops or such
You would, somehow, manage to say something
I would redden and you would laugh
Encouraging you to go further, to continue the next time
And now, ironically, I continue the family trait.
There was no ugly, except on my part
And for that, Iâ€™m truly sorry.
I remember you trying to jump over the roses
Trying to catch me â€“ after, well I was naughty,
But I deserved to have been caught.
Thereâ€™s nothing like having oneâ€™s own family to realise the difficulties of bringing up children.
Sorry Dad for all the trouble, the heartache and the worry you went through.
(All works remain the copyright of the individual authors. Â Please contact email@example.com for permission to reprint.)