An Ode to Fathers

Every day is Father’s Day when one becomes a dad. This year, our Father’s Day was planned to be spent in Florida, in a house near the beach, enjoying the squeals of our little Phoebe frolicking in the shallows of the Atlantic, watching her build sand castles, and us stretching out under the shade of palm trees. Instead, our Father’s Day was spent in the Emergency Room, watching her struggle with a severe allergic reaction to more bug bites than I had ever seen, and sitting in the waiting room for hours with no end in sight. When my daughter and I finally walked out of the hospital, we saw my husband waiting for us with a stuffed hippo and a balloon. My heart burst from how much he adores our little girl. He’s truly a super dad, her hero.

Much like Phoebe, I had an idol of my own growing up. I remember so many stories of my dad’s youth: of him running barefoot in a regional sprint competition on a gravel track because his parents couldn’t afford sneakers (and still finishing in third place!). Of him being a shepherd of cows after school and doing homework out in the field. Of making his own skis out of plank wood found in the forrest behind his childhood home. Of sneaking out of church to play soccer with friends on Sundays etc…

My dad built my childhood home with his own hands. He worked full time and went to college at the same time, finishing it in 3 years instead of the regular 4, all while having a toddler (me) at home. When he turned 40 Yugoslavia was unraveling at full speed. Somehow, my father thought that was just as good a time as any and started a business, eventually working with giants like NASA and Boeing. It is no coincidence that I launched the idea of my business in honor of my dad on his 70th birthday, just when I was turning 40 myself.

My dad’s name is Anton and he was named after his father, who served in the army during World War II as a young man. My grandfather was shot twice during the war, convalesced and returned to the battleground, was captured by the enemy twice, escaped both times, and lived to tell the story despite being a man of few words. My maternal grandfather Stanko had a complicated muscle infection in his leg when he was a teenager during World War II and spent most of his youth in a hospital. His leg was looking hopeless and was scheduled for amputation when penicillin was discovered and saved his leg, possibly even his life.

I grew up surrounded by these incredible men, their life experiences and wisdom, which put my life into perspective every single day. I am grateful for them and eager to keep their legacy of perseverance and persistence going.

Cheers, dad! I love you very much!