As a writer, I spend a lot of time imagining people. But I could never, nor will I ever be able to imagine a sweeter, gentler, more LOVING, more giving, more patient, or more perfect father than my Dad. I'm not sure whether or not he truly believed that when I put it on a card, but I know he believes it now.
A lot of people knew him as a colleague, or as a teacher, or as a friend, or as family, but I can hardly credit the fact that I am the only one lucky enough to call him, "Dad". Dad loved philosophy, kaşarlı simit, back scratches, what he called, "horizontal organisation" (i.e. piles of paper), taking walks with Fazlı Hoca, saying, "yani", the Logical Song, ginger biscuits, murder mysteries, that gap between "yes" and "no", and of course, the innumerable hours he spent with his students.
I don't remember a single time when he didn't put us first, nor when he didn't greet us with a big smile whenever we walked in. And reading these messages, I'm so moved to see that everyone remembers him in the same way. That, to me, is success, if anything is.
I love you, Dad, now and forever.
18.02.2021 10:44