I would like to bring the most beautiful flowers of the world in front of you... The jonquils, chrysanthemums, daffodils and atlas of the coldest climates. The princesses of the swamps, the pink, white and red azaleas, the graceful lotuses of the rainforests. The blue anemones of the high mountains, the cyclamen of the cliffs. The postcard-perfect, delicate sakura of the Japanese gardens, the fragile and fragrant lilies of spring, the sassy peonies, the romantic lilacs. The proud and noble hydrangeas of summer, the elegant and graceful asters of fall.

None of them would have cut me, none of them would have been enough. The scent of a father is more pleasing to a daughter than the freesias that herald spring. The color of a father is more attractive than the color of orchids. They are the most beautiful guests of the heart, the most colorful bouquets.

The Supermen of our childhood, the heroes of our fairy tales, our idols, our knights, our Don Quixotes who fought the mill for us. Our king fathers

A father is a shelter, a refuge in which we hide and cower in the stormiest nights of the heart. It is the earth; it is the soil that we fill up and overflow, that we blossom and bloom again, that we die and rise from the dead and are born again. Father is the most beautiful music, classical for some, concerto for others, sometimes folk songs, sometimes ney, sometimes harp, but always full of love. A father is a book, never ending, never understood, to be read and read, each page is a different story, each line on his face is worth a world. Father is strength. A mountain is a mountain, a place where you can lean back, stand upright, reach up to the sky, where the oxygen never runs out, where you breathe, where you find life, where rivers flow through you. It is love, patience, sacrifice.

Our admiration, jealousy, spoiledness that started in the father's house, in the warmth of the father, in the first house games, that will last until death, our spousal partners, our life partners that we look for, find or not find. We look for him everywhere, in every man. The unrequited love, trust, support, strength, sacrifice he gave. We long for her and our childhood when we were close to her.

What is it if everything material and immaterial is not the words written in our minds and the shapes drawn in our hearts by our father, who built and shaped our world of life and our inner and moral world, who reincarnated in us? What an honor it is to be the daughter of a hidden hero who said, "I have no inheritance other than my name and honor, I can't leave you anything other than walls full of books, but you must read, you must read," and I don't remember the jacket on his back, but I know he sold his wedding ring, who worked as a teacher during the day, a driver at night, a wall painter on weekends, a market vendor on holidays, and a floorboard hammerer during summer vacations.

I had not yet turned 17 when I entered the pharmacy faculty. I packed a few things in my vinyl suitcase and my mother prepared some travel bags and we took the first train to Izmir. After spending a few hours together at the fairgrounds, my mother, father and I walked to Alsancak Station. This was going to be my first journey into the unknown, where no one from my family would be with me, no one I knew would be with me. My father bought my ticket for the train to Bornova and gave it to me. He took me into the carriage with my suitcase to where I was going to sit and placed my suitcase upstairs. "My daughter," he said. "The last stop of this train is Bornova. You will get off there. When you get off, you will see the dormitory where you will stay right on the right. Your life starts now! Don't be afraid! Live the way I taught you! Do as I set an example for you, and Godspeed!"

I still remember that he kissed me on the forehead (fathers didn't kiss very often then, and not on the cheek) and got off the train and waved to me from outside, and I have never forgotten...

That's when my life began...

I lived as you taught me, father! As you set an example for me...

It was a privilege to be your daughter! I lived to be worthy of you. To deserve you! I lived to love you always...

I love you dad!..

Mukaddes Pekin Başdil

Researcher-Author

Source: Denizli Haber