Member-only story
How to Become the Person You Forgot You Were
I was seventeen years old. I was in my bedroom yelling at my dad. He was seated on my bed.
I don’t remember the reason.
I do remember I’d been on my tirade for what seemed like a long time. I think I must have paused to let my surefire argument sink in, certain he would give in to whatever it was that I wanted to do which my parents hadn’t agreed with. . .yet.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
My dad uttered that question with all the patience of a bank teller who’s just finished helping a pleasant customer. Now, there was nothing uncharacteristic about my dad’s patience that day. My dad’s in his 70s now and I can truthfully say I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard my dad lose his cool. Ever. Patience, I think, is one of his superpowers.
His question, spoken with such calm, completely knocked me off balance.
My mom had passed away about two and a half years earlier. Suddenly, the two and a half years of bottled up frustration, anger, sadness, and a host of other emotions erupted out of my seventeen year old eyes. My dad — shorter than I — stood up and wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed.
It was, and remains, the most pivotal moment of my life.
