Happy Father's Day, Dad
It was a Saturday morning in summer 2011, after my junior year. I had come to IU as a business major but quickly realized that I had little interest in business.
Being a dumb freshman, I decided to do the logical thing and change my major to biology/premed.
After a two-year attempt at biology/premed, I had been destroyed by organic chemistry and realized that, unlike business, there was no way I was going to be able to pull it off.
So, the summer after my junior year I came home with my tail between my legs, having been obliterated by a couple of IU’s science classes.
I had no idea what I was going to do. I hated business classes, which were my original plan, and I struggled in science classes. I was lost.
That Saturday morning my dad and I were driving to breakfast like we always did. On the way, he brought up the topic of what I was going to do about my major.
Being a college student, and afraid of the future, I tried to blow off the topic and change the subject immediately.
Today, I’m sure my dad knew I was trying to avoid the topic, but before he let it blow over for that day, he said one last thing about it. “I don’t care what you do, whether you’re a doctor, teacher, businessman or garbage man, as long as you are happy,” my dad said.
That single sentence changed my entire college career.
I knew that my happiness was the most important thing to my dad, and parents, but hearing it in that context gave me a confidence to do what made me happy, which I never had before.
I know today is not Father’s Day, but my column is not published on Sundays. So, Dad, thanks for telling me what you did that day on the way to breakfast.
Thanks for always pushing me to do my best. Even when I think I can’t do any more.
Thanks for giving me all the opportunities I have been blessed with throughout my life.
Thanks for overlooking some of my ridiculous bar tabs from ’Roy’s and Sports.
And finally, thanks for loving Mom and giving my siblings and I the best family we could ever imagine.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.