I miss my father. He was actually three fathers to me. The first, a doting, loving father whose every step I made, the smartest, most handsome man who ever lived. He could do no wrong.
As I grew up, he struggled under increased responsibility. Uncomfortable with adolescent girls, he put up a wall between us, becoming stern, cold, and distant, feeling women should raise girls. I resented what I saw as rejection, not understanding his reasoning. He could do little right.
As I became an adult, we grew close again. He was a loving grandfather, free again to love me. I still miss him.
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