Here’s one of my earliest memories: we’re driving to the beach for a family vacation, stopped by the side of the road so my dad can use a pay phone to call his client.
Here’s another: I go to a friend’s house for dinner and we eat at 6:00. I think it’s bizarre because in my house we don’t eat until my dad gets home from the office at 8pm. (My mom calls it “Barcelona dinner.”)
These fleeting childhood memories have (hopefully) demonstrated that my dad is one of the hardest working people I know. Years after the fact, I found out that he used to come home for “Barcelona dinner” every night and then, after my brother and I were asleep, head back to the office. He bent over backwards (in a time before iphones, laptops, or even the internet) to take care of his family while still making sure his clients got the best service he could possibly provide. Things are a lot easier for me (my dog doesn’t require that much attention); still, I like to think I’m following his lead, and I’m so thankful to have had this work ethic instilled in me from an early age.
Happy birthday, dad!