‘You look just like your father’, the family doctor would say at every single visit. It would only take seconds before he read something in my chart, making his face turn flush. I’m sure he read the words ADOPTED but between visits he would forget just as I did.

When I was a child, I never gave any thought to the fact that genetically it was impossible to carry my father’s physical traits. I knew that being adopted meant he and I were not biologically connected, but my family quickly forgot that fact. I learned that in every way I was my father’s daughter and I did look like him.

My father and I had a special bond which my mother had described as ‘in your father’s eyes you can do no wrong’. Not only was I the youngest, but also I was his only girl. I admired him. He was my biggest fan and he always made me feel that nothing could hurt me; he was my protector.

In the years before his death, we talked a lot about the memories of our times together. One of my favorite memories were our trips to get the family Christmas tree. Christmas was a magical time for me and I was filled with excitement. We would drive to the tree lot in town. It was just a social event; it made me happy that people stopped to make small talk.  

My father’s favorite memory was taking me to the local diner for morning coffee on Saturdays. He would lift me onto a stool at the counter when I wasn’t tall enough to get on myself. He would recall how I would talk to all of his friends. I can still see his smile as he told his story over and over drawing it from his memories.

My father taught me to whistle with my fingers; to my mother’s dismay, he would whistle loudly and draw attention. I, of course, would laugh from the depth of my belly. My stubborn disposition paid off, and after hours of practice, I learned to whistle just like my father. If only I could turn back the clock and see my mother’s face when her little girl belted out that first loud screech. My father surly got the death stare at that moment. 

Every summer, we spent an extended amount of time camping on Wellesley Island, which is on the Saint Lawrence River. My father took me ‘cliff diving’. As a small child, I remember thinking the ‘cliffs’ were as high as a mountain. I thought that I was being so brave. My dad would announce ‘lets go cliff diving’ and I would run to get my swim suit on. We would jump off right into the Saint Lawrence River without hesitation.  

Another favorite was going to the movies at Thousand Islands Park. T.I. Park, as we called it, is a small summer camp community right on Wellesley Island. The town shows movies in the ‘Tabernacle’ which is an outdoor pavilion. There are tarps covering the sides of the free air building to darken it for the show. The floor is sawdust, and the seating is wooden benches. The funniest part that stands out in my memory was the dogs that would run through the theater while the movie was playing.

My father filled my life up with memories that will last my lifetime. They have held me over since his passing and have given me comfort when I miss him the most. This is the legacy that he left for me. He was a father through and through. My childhood was wonderful and I know he was the father I was meant to have.