Dad was the firefighter of my troubles, the light when I couldn't see the path, the sweetness that kept me going, that gave me good energy. Cheerleader and defender, a rock of empathy, ever ready to turn laugh and play.
Once Sydney had finished telling the high and low lights of her camping trip, Dad locked her in a serious gaze. "You know," he said, callused finger pointing right at her nose, "you kids have it easy. When I was a lad the real work was in setting the snares for the wild parsnips." Sydney mock fainted on the table and Mom snickered. Sometimes there was just no being serious at number forty one.
Until I learned to run ahead, to become a warrior of the light, Dad was my co-pilot.
Dad made sure I knew that I wasn't the centre of the universe, but I was the centre of his.