It's a simple, perhaps cliché, saying but it's one that's been engrained into my mind since I was a child. Over the past 21 years of my life my father has repeated that phrase to me, constantly reminding and encouraging me and my sisters to chase down our dreams. When I set off for college in 2008 my parents knew my dream was to become a writer. Contrary to the negative comments I've heard about aspiring writers, no such words spilled from my parents' mouths. They did not tell me to go for a job that would make more money or one that would guarantee financial security. In fact they were very supportive of my decision to major in journalism. And there was my Dad, always reminding me to "do what you love, love what you do."
On Wednesday, April 13, I finally realized the beauty of those words.
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My father grew up in my hometown, a suburb of Cincinnati. His father was self-employed, the owner and employee of a flooring company. While I don't believe my father ever lived in poverty, money was tight in his household and it must've been through his up-bringing that he learned the power money plays into one's lifestyle. When it was time for him to go to college, he wanted to major in something that would allow him to work at a local paper-producing company. His parents however, encouraged him to major in accounting. My father was good at math, and so accounting was the path he decided to embark on.
By the time he graduated college though, my father was already working as a driver at UPS. The job paid well and offered decent benefits. He knew if he were to quit his job to start a career in accounting he would be backtracking financially. He decided to stick with UPS.
But my father, like his father, ended up taking an interest in the stock market. He bought books and learned the rules of the trade. I remember when I was younger, before cell phones were around, my father purchased this cute little blue beeper, that would send him updates on the stock market. He kept his computer on and would call the house if he needed someone to make an adjustment to something. When I was in my preteens my father paid me to review the stacks of charts he printed out and taught me to search for patterns.
"If this line goes above this mark," he would say, "make a note here." I had no idea what any of it meant, but for the sake of a few bucks I happily obliged to help him out.
It was during high school that my father decided to leave his route and took up working at night at UPS. He wasn't getting paid as much, but he did for two reasons: 1) So he could attend mine and my sister's after-school activities. 2) So he could focus on his dream of playing the market full-time.
His night-shift gig didn't last for too long though. After I went off to college and my younger sister attending the next year, he went back to driving for the financial reasons. He had to, for the sake of his family, put his stock-market dreams on hold.
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It wasn't until my second-year of college did I realize the sacrifices my parents made for me and my sisters. This holds especially true for my Dad. As I've worked harder and harder to try to achieve my dream of being a writer, I've begun to realize what it must be like for my father, who wants so badly to succeed in the stock-market, but cannot take the financial risk to give it a try. Because he goes to work day in and day out, and delivers packages to hundreds of people and businesses, I am here at Ball State with the opportunity to go after my dreams.
The more I thought about it, the more it broke my heart. My father has done so much for the happiness of his family. There are the big financial things, like getting a pool for the backyard and taking us to Disney World. There are the little financial things, like paying for my gas and cell phone when I can't afford it. There is time. The time he took to watch every cross-country and track meet he could possibly attend. Or driving down to EKU to watch my sister's french horn performance. Or going to the high school's play, just to see the set my other sister worked on.
The list goes on. Needless to say, even as I type this, I am getting teary-eyed thinking of all the things my father has done for me, just to make me happy.
All I ever want to do is make him proud. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
On Tuesday, April 12, I realized I accomplished my goal.
It was a beautiful sunny day when my father called me. For the most part of conversation was a fairly normal one; we talked about running. He told me how he did in a recent 5k and the new runners he met. I told him my lack of training for a full marathon and how I will be dropping down to the half marathon for the Flying Pig in two weeks.
And then we got onto something else. My story that just got published in Running Times magazine.
My father is proud. He was proud before the article came out. He was proud before he even knew if I was going to get published or not. Just the mere idea that the editor from Running Times magazine, one of his favorite magazines, was interested in my story was enough to make him happy.
Fortunately for me it did get published. My father text me the day the magazine showed up in our mailbox, thrilled to see my name in the table of contents and my story on page 53. My parents then went out and bought four more copies. My father has shown pretty much every person he knows my story. A family friend from church told me on facebook, "I told your VERY proud dad I would have to pick up a copy." Knowing I made my Dad this proud was the best thing I could've ever asked for.
But then he told me something that I never expected. When my father called me it was around noon and he should've been off working. But he had a cold and UPS told him to stay at home. So before we talked, he was at his computer, looking at the stock market and doing more research. And over the phone he told me, "You know I always tell you guys it only takes one thing. For you it's one book. For Julie it's one painting. For Beth, it's one song or performance. All it takes is one thing and you're set for life. And after seeing you get published, I realized, 'Hey, maybe I should take my own advice.' So now I'm trying to get back into the stock market."
Although he never directly said it, I knew what he meant. The man who is the reason I have decided to embark on my dream of being a writer, was telling me that I inspired him. All I could do was smile.
The next day I went to Books a Million and bought four copies. One for myself, one for my boyfriend, one for my professor, and one to show my friends. I found my story and I sat down on a comfy chair in the bookstore and read it. And I realized how my father was right. Writing is the only thing I really want to do with my life. And I love it.
The funny thing is, after all of this, I don't think my father has directly said, "I'm proud of you." In the past he's said this but I don't think I've heard him say it about this story. But he doesn't need to. His actions, as always, speak louder than words.
This is beautiful! It made me tear up!!
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