Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Papa Vicarthur Ranara

I've been thinking about fathers, good fathers, and how hard they've got it. Sometime ago, they were subject to stereotype, told emotions were for girls, and highfivesnohugs/dryeyesalways policies. Somewhere they learned to have daughters - sharp, sometimes conniving daughters. Somehow my Dad raises me and my sister in a culture completely different than his own; one he understands but does not approve. He raises us grand, great and proud. Seeking only the best, he gives all he's got. Some fathers have a hundred dollars and give $20 of it to their kids. My Dad has a $5, then he'll give a $5. He'll keep nothing for himself, except his dreams. He can be as stubborn as wet sand, as jittery as a swatted fly, and as gentle as a fluffy summer cloud, but he emerges heroic. Everyday.

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