Dad.

When they were deciding on superheroes, they chose my dad.

Born in Greece in the fifties, and later living in Germany, dad was a wild child, or so I’ve been told.

I think that’s what attracted my straight and narrow mom to him during her Summer vacations in Greece.

Dad was in the army when they got engaged.

In Greece every man I’ve they turn 18 must serve time for their Country.

Mom brought him to Canada where they were married and immediately started the family.

My dad didn’t speak any English at the time but he didn’t let that stop him from working.

There were a few short years that they moved us back to Greece but from what I’ve been told my mom was unhappy being so far away from her family so we moved back to Canada shortly before my younger sister was born.

Dad learned the art of pastry in Greece and shortly after moving back to Canada opened a Greek Bakery.

Recession hit, we moved into my grandparents house and dad got a full time guaranteed job as head baker at the local University.

We didn’t have much but we always had a roof over our head and food on our table.

In the early 90’s he took a leap of faith and with borrowed funds purchased a Bakery in a tourist town. He drove an hour every day to and from for years but after he fell asleep at the wheel one night after a 16 hour shift, my mom decided it was time to move the family closer to the business.

It was tough at first. The only friends I had were the staff that worked for our family.

The town didn’t have any public transportation so my sisters and I would ride our bikes or rollerblades to the local variety store and rent movies and hang out at home.

Rather than slow down and enjoy finally being financially comfortable, dad opened up business after business. At one point the family had a Bakery, Shoe store, leather goods store, restaurant and clothing store all on the same block. My mom loved being busy and keeping her mind off of the Cancer and dad loved that he could finally spoil us with family vacations all year long.

My parents were the perfect couple. They never fought, poked fun at each other and were eye rolling adorably affectionate in public.

Our house was command central. Always full with our friends, and my parents helped us throw the best house parties in high school!

When the college acceptance letters started rolling in, my dad lost his mind at the idea that I could possibly move away. I remember sitting at the kitchen table one night and he offered me the Bakery to run if I agreed not to go away to school. My mom quickly stepped in and reminded him how old I was and that it was important for me to experience life.

He stood at the end of the driveway the day I moved to London and in the rear view mirror I could see him crying.

The deal was that I would make the 2 hour trip home every weekend to work and get my weekly money for spending while at school.

Second year, Fall semester my landline rang and it was my dad. Clearing his throat, he said “You need to come home. You’re mother isn’t going to be with us much longer”.

Without thinking twice, I packed my apartment up and left school. I was home for the Winter and in early April, just as Spring started to show up, we got the visit at home from our family doctor.

“Whatever plans you have, make them now. It could be weeks, it could be days”.

One week later mom slipped into a coma at home. A few days later, she passed.

I thought that I was going to lose my dad too.

How was he going to survive this?

How was he supposed to raise 3 girls when he had no clue because he was always at work and mom did the raising.

What if he starts drinking heavily and dies from cirrhosis of the liver? (Yup, always me thinking of ways to give myself anxiety)

But, he did. He survived.

That same year 9/11 happened and the world shut down. The economy bit the dust and Tourism, the one thing that fed us all those years, came to a haunt.

Trying to stay afloat, dad sold off the businesses he could and closed the ones he couldn’t.

He kept the one restaurant and put all his efforts there. He sold the house and moved us into an apartment in one of his buildings.

And just like a blessing in disguise, I got a cheque in the mail from the teacher’s board that my mom taught at. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to put a down payment on my first home. My sisters moved in with me and dad took care of the mortgage payment and bills.

He slowly rebuilt himself up over the years to follow.

He met my, now step-mom who reminded him how young he was and how much life he still had in him.

My dad is my best friend.

Hands down.

Some of my friends say it’s crazy that I confide everything in him.

Everything.

Sometimes too much that he reminds he is my dad and to go tell my girlfriends what I just told him.

I’ve never needed for anything since mom passed. Dad provided financial stability, life lessons and most importantly pushed me to want better for myself. Take my talents and turn them into successes.

He lived his early part of life, away from his parents, in a different Country, working more hours than he slept, with 3 mouths to feed and a dying wife and yet he never complained.

Now, in his second half of life, rather than spoil himself and enjoy himself, he chooses to live simply day to day. He spends his money on his grandkids and family making sure to help create memories. The lavish lifestyle isn’t for us, but when he does splurge we are humbled and reminded of where we started and came from.

I don’t think that I have ever gone more than 24 hours without talking to him in the last 20 years.

I believe that maybe I have always searched for someone like my dad to be my partner in life and while he set the bar so high, he set my confidence even higher in that even if I am alone, I will be ok.

While he never told me how proud he is of me, and reminds me daily of my fuck ups (lol) he always has my back.

My therapist says that the way dad and I rely on each other so much is unhealthy but I think she just wishes she had her own superhero.

Like me (or me like him) dad fosters too, only for him it’s through wanting to help people get ahead in life.

Then they leave and forget to say thank you.

Leaving him feeling hurt.

While I can see now, that I’m older, I can’t change the person I am. Just like he can’t change who he is. So, we vent to each other when it does happen, call each other idiots for letting it happen and then swear it won’t happen again, until it does.

I would rather have my heart hurt than not have a heart at all, like some.

One thing is for sure, dad not only has a huge heart, he wears a cape too!