12.12.2012
There is, however, a memory that I have also kept with me. I remember him coming by when I was very little (probably around 4 or 5), I sat in his lap, and he read to me. It may have happened more than this one time, but this is the only time that stuck in my memory. The book was The Gingerbread Man, and I'll never forget such a treasured moment, because that was the book I learned to read from and the first book I could read on my own.
I think of this childhood memory with him now and begin to realize, when you’re as young as I was then, you don’t think about a person’s absence from your life, you only recall while looking back on it. I still have that book; it’s a little bent, torn and frayed, but the words are still there. So are the memories. So this is my novel memory on this special day, and I would like to wish my father a Happy Birthday, as his story's ended, and I continue with mine.
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