Twenty-Five Years a Lawyer, Twenty-Five Years My Hero
There are very few things that have changed in the twenty-five years since my father last walked the halls of Malcolm. Maybe the color of the hair, maybe the absence of the mustache, maybe the (very few) added wrinkles. Maybe two more daughters since he graduated.
But the same walk, the same wit, the same character. He is still the harassed family man, working and raising a family and always seeking knowledge with whatever time he has. He has forsaken bigger and brighter dreams to raise us, but he has never compromised his principles to have us live easy lives burdened by lies told and scruples lost.
I can say this much, as I have spent all twenty-five years of my life with him. And my sisters can attest to the same too, I dare say.
In the time it has taken for him to grow the gray in his hair, lose the mustache, and etch those (very few) wrinkles, he has raised five daughters, each in her own way a reflection of him.
The first daughter is a lawyer now, a graduate, too, of Malcolm.
The second is a teacher, watching over wonderful little children.
The third is well on her way to finishing law school, also in Malcolm.
The fourth is pursuing a degree in medicine.
The last daughter is a few steps away from her first degree, on her way to (maybe) becoming a lawyer too.
We have all grown up with the knowledge that we are lucky to have been born to a father who shows us how men should be.
Not bound by traditional notions of a head of the household, unfazed by challenges posed by raising a family almost entirely by himself, always willing - never hesitating- to sacrifice for his family, unconditional in his loving, unselfish in his giving.
He was asked to make a write-up for the 25th anniversary of his class, but could not find it in himself to write about himself.
He has never been one to seek the bright and shining lights.
His daughter writes for him now, because there is no better person to write for and of him. After all, we have been his life, and, I suppose, he has always been our life.
But the same walk, the same wit, the same character. He is still the harassed family man, working and raising a family and always seeking knowledge with whatever time he has. He has forsaken bigger and brighter dreams to raise us, but he has never compromised his principles to have us live easy lives burdened by lies told and scruples lost.
I can say this much, as I have spent all twenty-five years of my life with him. And my sisters can attest to the same too, I dare say.
In the time it has taken for him to grow the gray in his hair, lose the mustache, and etch those (very few) wrinkles, he has raised five daughters, each in her own way a reflection of him.
The first daughter is a lawyer now, a graduate, too, of Malcolm.
The second is a teacher, watching over wonderful little children.
The third is well on her way to finishing law school, also in Malcolm.
The fourth is pursuing a degree in medicine.
The last daughter is a few steps away from her first degree, on her way to (maybe) becoming a lawyer too.
We have all grown up with the knowledge that we are lucky to have been born to a father who shows us how men should be.
Not bound by traditional notions of a head of the household, unfazed by challenges posed by raising a family almost entirely by himself, always willing - never hesitating- to sacrifice for his family, unconditional in his loving, unselfish in his giving.
He was asked to make a write-up for the 25th anniversary of his class, but could not find it in himself to write about himself.
He has never been one to seek the bright and shining lights.
His daughter writes for him now, because there is no better person to write for and of him. After all, we have been his life, and, I suppose, he has always been our life.
posted by peach at 10:29 PM
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