How My Father Influenced Me

The month of June carries with it a lot of change and promise. The change of the season as we move from spring to summer. The promise of adventure ahead for children as they say goodbye to their school year and prepare for summer excitement. Also, it provides a poignant time for self-reflection. The time to reflect on the father figures in our lives: fathers; grandfathers; uncles; brothers; all of the men who were in our lives when we were growing up and taught us the values of strength and courage.

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One of my earlier memories of my father was when, at the age of three years, we moved from Toronto to Mississauga. Moving to a suburban space with a large backyard was a sight for my eyes which previously had only taken in images of sprawling concrete. The backyard, I recall, had no grass and for whatever reason, I was given a shovel and I started shovelling away. Thinking back now, I have to suppress laughter, as I truly don't know what strategic end there was to me toiling away with a shovel (I never planted a single thing that day). But perhaps, it was my father's way of letting me have some good ole' fashion kiddie fun.

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What memory do you have? 

Another time I remember my father trying to teach me the value of money. This was at age five. One summer's day, my father walked me to the local bank and arranged for a bank account to be opened for me. I didn't quite understand what was happening. I remember the teller having a warm, very friendly, smiling face. The words "we're trying to teach her" and "money" are etched in my psyche. And for some reason, the memory of wearing green shorts (the exact shade escapes me) comes back. From that summer's day on, I was made knowledgeable over the state of their mortgage (they ended up paying off the mortgage when I was seven years old); the heating bills; the impact on electricity use; and more. To this day, the lessons learned from that summer's day and the many days thereafter are very much a fundamental part of me.

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What lessons do you remember? 

My father wasn't afraid to tell me that life can be tough. Having had a difficult childhood, he'd seen and experienced some of life's more painful moments. My father was incredibly honest about how arduous the trials of our world could be and how heartache was a part of this game that we call life.  He told me everyday that I'd have to be tough; I'd have to speak up to be heard; and never to be afraid to be me. Lessons that I hold near and dear to my heart each and every day of my life. They shaped me. His sardonic sense of humour,  his love of learning; all with me and lessons I pass on to my own children. Proud and powerful influences for which I'm forever grateful for.

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Written by Liz Marques Kogan, a momstown Milton member and mother of two children. 

You can check out her site at: OrchidaWords