This is what I recall: My father would wake up before dawn and take the train from our quiet suburb to the bustling heart of downtown Chicago. He spent his days in a towering office building on Jackson Boulevard—an imposing structure I visited only once, during a special Saturday outing when he took me along. I can still picture the greenish tint of the train windows, the overflowing ashtrays, and the stacks of papers on the brown desks. I remember the sensation of my ears popping as we ascended the elevator to the top of the Sears Tower during our lunch break.
Every evening, he returned home on the same 5 PM train. As soon as the front door swung open, I would dash from the family room, through the kitchen, and into the dining room, eagerly awaiting the moment I could surprise him. I’d wrap my arms around him, my cheek pressed against his trench coat that carried the scent of cold air, smoke, and train exhaust.
He would then head down to the basement, where I’d hear the rhythmic thumping of the punching bag. After a long drink from the kitchen sink, sweat glistening on his chin, he’d later settle down with me, his deep, smoky voice resonating in my ear as he read me a story.
This is how I viewed his life: Routine. Secure. Happy. It wasn’t until years later that I learned he was waking up each day to a job he despised.
I don’t remember if he told me this once or a hundred times, but I can still visualize him shaking his head, his blue eyes filled with sadness. “Never take a job you don’t like. It’s not worth it. Follow your passion.”
As a child, my dad was an avid reader. He devoured classics like Treasure Island, The Ted Williams Story, and Crime and Punishment, as well as comic books. He often read in his bedroom to escape the teasing of neighborhood kids. This love for stories permeated his life; he appreciated narratives in every form—books, movies, TV shows, and music. Conversations with him were my first lessons in storytelling: how to weave a narrative, what elements make it engaging, and how to explore arcs, dialogue, and settings. I still recall his joy over the repetitious weather talk in the film Fargo—a reflection not just of weather but of our innate human desire to connect.
During his college years, my father considered majoring in literature and becoming an English teacher. However, a well-meaning counselor advised him to pursue accounting, emphasizing that his math skills would ensure job security. He followed this advice and became an accountant, marrying and starting a family that relied on him. I knew he felt a sense of loss for not following his true passion. But he didn’t sacrifice his dreams for us intentionally; had he foreseen the years filled with numbers and tax documents stretching ahead, he would have likely sprinted towards that World Literature class.
Yet, in a way, he did make a sacrifice. Our parents’ mistakes often become our most significant lessons. We learn from them and, hopefully, strive to be better, happier individuals. It is our duty to carry their lessons forward—otherwise, what’s the point?
I’ve charted my own course and never entertained the idea of taking a job I would loathe. I’ve worked as a journalist, a political communications director, and now as an author. My journey is guided by my love for writing and storytelling, and by the acknowledgment of life’s brevity and our responsibility to pursue happiness. My father instilled that in me.
Now, as a parent, I know I will make mistakes, and my children will learn from them. They will understand my errors, but they will also grasp the most profound lesson I can offer: Do what you love. Those words will resonate through generations, reaching his grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well.
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In summary, the most valuable lesson my father taught me is to pursue what you love, a sentiment that continues to influence my life and will undoubtedly shape the lives of my children.
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