My father was a journalist, and his father before him. I am late in coming in to their world of writing. A world that he channeled me away from to a career that, was what I thought at the time, a woman’s career, nursing. Now, just now, I realize that he channeled me in to something he knew would be a career that would always provide for me, as well as help humankind; that journalism was good, but may not sustain me. He was adamant that I stay in the medical field in some way when I fought it and wanted to give up two years in to the process. I railed, pouted, and cried; he would not budge. The choices he gave me: I could continue at home, or go to be with relatives in L.A. to study there.
I continued on at home in San Antonio, graduated with my BSN, and have followed a path in nursing, in one arena or another, through all these years. He must have laughed when I got the job at UCLA so many years later.
And now I have started to write. After all these years.
Thank you for being my muse, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
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