A Treasure of Incomparable Worth: Father

Shoulders and calves. Oily scalp and big teeth. Sense of humor and charisma. Eloquence and fetching smile. Temper. Sweet tooth. Optimism and open mind. Intelligence and sophistication. Impatience and obstinacy. Cynosural wit.

My father gave these things to me. Some I didn’t want. Many I will always be grateful for. All of them make me his daughter.

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She will start out small. Small hands. Small feet. Small smiles in the thick of sleep. She will not stay that way, however. She will grow. And you must grow with her.

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A Writer and her Psychologist

It began in October of 2002, with tender embraces and lingering caresses; the way we held each other during the incipient stage, is how the branches cleave to their blooms in the autumn.

Don’t let go,¬†they seem to say. Hold on tighter. Just a few days more.

We couldn’t bear to be away from one another, and because of that, often spent countless hours — not to mention tanks of gas — commuting back and forth from Orange to Dana Point, roughly 35 miles separating us.

The nights Michael arrived on my doorstep, well after he should have gone on home to bed, and after a 10 hour shift at On The Border (a Mexican restaurant where he waited tables), were some of the most exhilarating nights of my life.

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