My father.

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Many people remember their fathers for one thing or another in Father´s day. I remember mine several times during the year. And although he hasn´t been with me for over 30 years, I still think that I am Daddy´s girl and it is even now part of my life. I close my eyes and I remember those Sunday mornings. We had an old canteen (I still wonder now where did it come from and where is it now). We´d fill it with water and we went hiking with my Dad up to a (small now) hill. My father gave us military orders and we happily followed. "Stop. Just a sip of water; we don´t know where we´ll find more." There was no TV in my country then. We had books and radio only. And I felt that my father knew everything. Our hike ended at noon when we went back home. My mother by then had made a delicious Sunday lunch. We talked about all we had seen. The butterflies, the wild flowers, the beautiful stones. We were rich. Thank you dear Dad. Thank you for all my memories.