Remembering You Papa is Remembering Me.


It's my papa's birthday so I wrote him a little something. 

Yesterday, trying to recollect beautiful memories of you, I could only recall memories of you telling beautiful memories of me.  You told them so well, stories of our precious time together.  

When I was a small babe you took me to Fuller so Mom could nurse me in between classes.  You babbled to me in wonderful non-sense talk, as you cooked “Tangy Tuna Mac” and “Rafts”.  

One of my favorite stories you always told of me, was when I got lost.  You tell it so well, with so much love and fear that you had lost your little Anna.  You tell of how I wandered off.  You knocked at all the regular neighbors, that we played with and who knew me. “Have you seen my Anna?”  “No, we haven’t seen her,” they replied.  You then became frantic. Rushing from door to door, now asking people at the end of the street that we didn’t know. “Have you seen my Anna?” “No,” they replied. An hour had passed which seemed like hours. Then you returned to where you had started at our neighbors/friends’ house and asked. “Can I just check, to see if she’s here?” They said, “Sure, but we really haven’t seen her.”  It turns out I was in one of their beds fast asleep.  I had felt so at home, to just go over there without asking and take a little snooze, no one being the wiser.  You sigh with great relief when you tell this story and it makes me feel so precious to you. 

I remember the days you would pick me up from Kindergarden and we would sit on a big rock half way on the walk home, you would tell me a story.  I would give you the characters, and you would make up a wonderful adventure that they would exprience.  I only remember this because you have told me about it so often.  You spoke about how wonderful those days with me were.  Those days on the big rock.  You still smile as you think back on them.  

One thing I remember that you might not, is when you read Dr.Suess to me until your eyelids closed and your mouth rattled off your own gibberish. I recognized it and would wake you with a gentle nudge. “Those aren’t the right words, Papa,” I’d say knowing what came next.  You would say you weren’t sleeping, I knew you were.

I also remember the first time I hiked up Khuntan mountain all on my own.  I was 4 years old and you were by my side the whole way up.  Stopping to take a little rest every 200 meters. You made me feel like such a strong girl. You made me feel so proud, cheering for me as we passed every corner. Telling me stories of the time you ran off the side of the mountain and crashed into the banana trees below, or how you helped carry cement up to build the bathing pool at the mountain top. You distracted my little mind so that I could keep walking, and could make it all on my own.  I knew I was precious and I knew I was like no other. 

You called me Tweetsten, Boo Boo, Baby-Cakes, Tweety, Bingsit, Baby-Cakes-Sweetheart-Puddin-n-Pie.  And you still do. 

You have always repeated the stories of me with such love and treasure.  You never wanted to forget, and you couldn’t have me forget, how much you love me and how much you treasure times with me.  

I love you papa. I am so glad you are my papa. 

1 comment

  1. Oh my goodness, what an amazing tribute to your papa. Such a heartwarming post. Much love!


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