My dad, Kevin, was my hero. He was the kind of man who made pancakes on Saturdays. Not just any pancakes. He’d flip them high in the air and catch them in the pan, pretending to fumble just to hear me laugh.<\/p>\n
We didn’t have much money growing up, but somehow Dad made our tiny apartment feel like a palace.<\/p>\n
He showed up to everything. Parent-teacher meetings where he’d sit in those too-small chairs and nod seriously while my teacher talked about my math homework.<\/p>\n
He showed up to everything. Parent-teacher meetings where he’d sit in those too-small chairs and nod seriously while my teacher talked about my math homework.<\/p>\n
Baseball games where he’d arrive straight from his second shift, still in his work boots, clutching a thermos of coffee and cheering louder than anyone else in the stands.<\/p>\n
When I was seven, I had nightmares about monsters under my bed.<\/p>\n
Dad would come in at two in the morning, sit on the edge of my mattress, and rub circles on my back until I stopped shaking.<\/p>\n
“Breathe with me, Brian,” he’d whisper. “In and out. That’s it. I’ve got you, buddy.”<\/p>\n
I believed him. Because he always did.<\/p>\n
Other kids had two parents splitting the load, but I had one man doing the work of both. He packed my lunches with little notes tucked inside:<\/p>\n
“Proud of you. You’re gonna do great today. Love you, kiddo.”<\/p>\n
I kept every single one in a shoebox under my bed.<\/p>\n
Mom died when I was a baby. I never knew her.<\/p>\n
Dad said she was beautiful and kind, and that I had her eyes. He kept one photo of her on the mantle, but he never talked about her much.<\/p>\n
“It’s just you and me, buddy,” he’d say, ruffling my hair. “And that’s more than enough.”<\/p>\n
“Dad, do you ever get lonely?” I asked him once when I was 12.<\/p>\n
He looked at me with those steady brown eyes. “How could I be lonely when I’ve got you, sweetie?” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.<\/p>\n
“Brian, some people spend their whole lives searching for what matters. I’ve already found it. You’re everything I need.”<\/p>\n
Dad said she was beautiful and kind, and that I had her eyes. He kept one photo of her on the mantle, but he never talked about her much.<\/p>\n
“It’s just you and me, buddy,” he’d say, ruffling my hair. “And that’s more than enough.”<\/p>\n
“Dad, do you ever get lonely?” I asked him once when I was 12.<\/p>\n
He looked at me with those steady brown eyes. “How could I be lonely when I’ve got you, sweetie?” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.<\/p>\n
“Brian, some people spend their whole lives searching for what matters. I’ve already found it. You’re everything I need.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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