Dad, Interrupted
Every Friday morning, I drive down to the local coffee shop to meet up with my Dad. We drink our coffee, eat our chicken chorizo breakfast sandwiches, and start warming up with our guitars.
It’s the only time I see him smile.
My Dad and I have been playing guitar together since I was thirteen. From what I remember, raising a rebellious teenage daughter came with its challenges, and when we didn’t see eye-to-eye, playing music together kept us in tune.
There isn’t enough white space on this page to write about how amazing my Dad was.
He was everything a good father should be.
But severe OCD, PTSD, and manic depression have all crippled his spirit. The monsters of mental illness have stolen him from me.
It’s not going to be easy, but I want to tell you about one of my favorite people in the world.
It’s what brought me to Medium in the first place.
My Dad, The Superhero
A strong, clean-cut man standing tall in his police uniform will forever be the image engraved in my mind.
