I’m a 35 year-old woman with a successful career as a lawyer. At the time, I was working at a big firm downtown. My husband also has a successful career. I share this with you – not to be pretentious, but to provide context to the sheer absurdity of what occurred just a couple of months ago —
—when my 61 year-old father offered to help me (a.k.a. give me money) so I could go on reduced-hours at the firm and spend more time with Baby O.
My initial reaction was a little prideful.
I’m a big girl, after all.
But after seeing the earnest worry in his face over my well-being, I found myself looking away and carefully blinking so tears wouldn’t belie exactly what a big girl I was.
And that Dear Readers is just a glimpse into the type of man my Dad is.
Yes, he taught me to ride a bike. Yes, he was my first call for anything car-related (flat tire, funny noise, accident). Yes, he was the squisher of bugs and the vanquisher of the Bogeyman. Yes, he was teacher, provider and protector – and I am eternally grateful for his love when I was a child.
But I am absolutely humbled and grateful for his continuous love for me as an adult.
He currently works 7 days a week, 365 days a year at a gas station (and has for most of my life) and yet, here he was, trying to lessen my billable hour burden. He was born in a third-world country, survived the horrors of the Khmer Rouge regime, and came to America with nothing) – and yet here he was, trying to solve my first world problem.
I hastily labeled my Dad’s offer as sheer absurdity (synonyms include insanity, wildly ridiculous), but after some introspection and the perspective of being a mommy, the label still stands but now, I get it.
I am just as crazy about O and I too would work my life away if it meant a little less burden on her.
Guess I am a big girl after all.