I am three years old, and I am looking up at my dad. He is standing in front of me, his hands open, splayed out in a warm offering. “Come here, Hazel,” he says.
As I step into his outstretched arms, I giggle. He looks funny to me, his dark aviator sunglasses matching the black of his thick mustache, the one that tickles my cheeks when he kisses me goodnight.
My father’s strong hands lift me up, up, up, and then up some more. When he finally settles me on top of his shoulders, I suddenly can see everything. As I look out at the world through my green-brown eyes—the ones that are the reason for my beloved nickname—everything feels right: I feel safe. I feel important. I feel happy. I feel loved.
To him, I am the sunshine on his shoulders, but to me, he is my foundation, a steadfast, unwavering support that anchors me to every truth I’ve ever known. Continue reading “Week 24: Sunshine On My Shoulders: A Father’s Day Story | Everyday Nostalgia”