“Life isn’t fair” is one of the many mottos that most children are raised to know. About a week ago, my dad got sick; and the saying, “life isn’t fair”, took a whole new meaning in my family. The man who I once saw run down the beach and jump in the ice cold ocean face first, now has trouble walking from his bedroom to the kitchen. Sometimes my thoughts begin to wander; and I fall upon the cold, harsh fact that these may be the last years I spend with the man who I am lucky to have as my father. When the thoughts of my dad being defeated by this illness come into my head, the picture of the ocean pushes the other thoughts away. I realize the fact that without my dad in it, the ocean doesn’t sing to me; and since the ocean will sing forever, my dad will always be lively enough to play in it. These thoughts of the ocean and the strength of my dad give me the power to believe that he will overcome.
My dad and I have always shared certain special moments together; every father, daughter dance, night time stories, and a back rub before bed. Father, daughter dances have always been extremely special to me because my dad would always grab my hand and make me feel like a princess; just like every father should make their daughter feel. The first time I really noticed that the illness took something away from my dad was at my cousins bat mitzvah during the father, daughter dance. Usually as soon as this particular dance is announced my dad is jumping up and down in front of me begging for just one dance. This time he never came. My sister and I walked over to the table where he sat in his wheelchair and each scooped him up by placing our arms underneath his. The three of us stood swaying in unison on the edge of the dance floor and my mother stood behind us almost in tears. This time, instead of making us feel like princess’, we, my sister and I, made our dad feel like the luckiest man in the world.
My life without my dad would be like an earth with no sun; it simply could not exist. My dad has shaped the world in which I have grown up in and the woman in which I am becoming. He has worked hard to make me understand everything that has the ability of being understood and has made me laugh more times than I can remember. The title of this essay is “I Believe In My Dad” and that will always be true. I believed him when he told me that Santa Claus was real, even though he is Jewish. I believed in him when he had the idea to help the poor mothers in our area get jobs. I believe his stories about his fights for freedom. I believe in his beliefs about justice. I believe in everything that he does and hopes to do. I really do believe that my dad will overcome this illness but when it comes down to it, the basic fact stands stronger than any, when I say: I believe in my dad.