Daddy Dearest II. (:

I remember thinking at one point in my childhood that my father was omnipotent. I thought he could do anything and everything! I saw how he would fix things that everyone said were no longer usable. He carried on many reclamation projects that others had completely given up on. He had a profound feeling of responsiblity for his family. He worked and gave us everything we needed. But as time went by, it became rare for him to do these things. It was sort of like an obsolete cassette player that you loved so much but you upgraded when CD players came into existence. Sure you have great memories with the cassette player, but they're rare to find -- almost impossible and you now have to get used to the new "thing." My perception of him changed soon after. I guess it's something every child goes through. When you're young, your parent is a true hero, put as you gain a different perspective throughout the years, you realize that you were wrong as a kid. Everything you thought as a kid becomes completely inconsequential. Those ideas you had as a child are thrown out the window and replaced by new ideas you derived through personal life experiences. Everything I knew as a child became trivial. What I thought of my dad was no longer significant. This new father of mine caused me to have no conception of the man he was before. Those memories faded away. Those enlightening words he told me as a child that made me want to reach for the stars, those medleys he created and sang to me when I was sick, and his facetious manner disappeared little by little.
When I first realized this, I was quite melancholic. I obviously wanted my old daddy back. I couldn't believe that the man that he had become was the same man who was always so cordial to his family and friends. Sure I still loved him, but it seemed as if it was incumbent for me to feel like that simply because I was his daughter and that was my responsibility. I remember looking at him sleeping in his bed as the TV blared and my mother was at work and thinking of the man who would lock himself in his bedroom, the room he used as an asylum, to pray and read the bible. I felt such a sadness to see him just laying there.
But just recently, I realized something. No one remains the same forever. Everyone changes and there's nothing I can do about it. But, I can love my dad for the person he is and not for the person he once was. And, I do. I truly do love my father, bad temper and all.