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When I was a young boy, my father used to put me on his lap and we talked. I mean, he talked and I listened to him. He had been opening my eyes to the world, telling me stories about not only my country, but also about the other lands, far, far behind the wide rivers, huge mountains and deep oceans.
When I was a young boy I already knew how big my country was and how many inhabitants lived over there. I knew what the name of the capital of my country was and who our neighbors were. My father showed me a book called an atlas and pointed out the places he had spoken about. I knew where the mountains were and where the sea was. I also knew why the rivers ran down the mountain to the sea and not in the opposite direction.
Sometimes we played a geography game. My father told me a name of a town and I had to find it among the other small names on the map. It was fun. Another time we played a game called "States, Towns and Rivers". For each letter of the alphabet we had to put down the proper name of the state, town, river, famous person, thing... and it was fun too.
When I watched TV and there was something on about countries I had heard of for the first time, I asked questions: where were they, how big were they, what languages people spoke there, did they have the same interests I had, did they play the same games...? And my father patiently had been explaining to me what I wanted to know, adding with a smile on his face: "I am very glad that you are so curious and want to know everything, son. The more you know the more people will respect you. When you grow up, you'll reap the fruits of what you know." Falling asleep at night I was dreaming that maybe one day I would go to the places we had talked about.
Thirty six years later my dream came true. I left my country, heading for America. It was a great opportunity to get the answers to all my questions. At least about one country. Although I knew a lot about that far-away land, the close encounter with it made my hair stand on end. It wasn't a nice story anymore. It wasn't a drive of a finger across a map in the atlas. There was nobody on whose lap I could sit and ask questions. There was only me and a big unknown. A merciless struggle for every day, tomorrow and a brighter future.
At the age of thirty six I didn't wear short pants any more, but I felt as if I was a young boy again. My life started from the very beginning. Every step to the right or to the left ended up with bruises and bumps. Opening my mouth I emitted an inarticulate sound which was understandable only to me. My eyes, with a big WHY in them, widely opened, examined the world in order to memorize everything what could bring better tomorrow.
Sometimes tears of powerlessness blurred the way out from the jungle of commonplaceness. But the real man doesn't cry. I knew that at the end of the tunnel there had to be a light. My father taught me a lot. Thanks to him I am not afraid of going through life with my head up. Thanks to him I am who and what I am.
Life is beautiful because it creates new life and life is cruel because it takes away what it created.
I don't have father any more with whom I could share my grief and joy, my ups and downs. But his spirit guides and protects every step I take in the maze of life. And I know that one day we'll see each other again, in the other world, and probably I won't sit on his lap but we'll have time to chat a little.
Until then, wherever you are DAD, thank you for giving me life and:
HAPPY FATHER'S! DAY!
I LOVE YOU!
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