My dad’s birthday

Eighty-five years ago my dad was born — the best dad on earth, the most loyal and loving one. Now that I am the father of three children myself, I understand him more than ever. As a child I did not understand him, and to my shame I was even embarrassed by him and criticized him. All that remains is to marvel at his patience. My dad was an incredibly talented engineer, a passionate technical mind.

It was my dad who pushed me toward my profession; he opened up the world of IT for me. He saw the future, knew where electronics and technology were headed. He knew how to deal with people, although back then it seemed to me that he did not. Where did I get so many complexes from? No one could do a better drum roll on his belly, no one made funnier monkey faces, no one sang mischievous songs better or played the accordion better. Dad could do everything. He had golden hands. In the age of shortages, he managed to make anything out of next to nothing. He built stainless-steel window frames for the balcony that ran on rails and lasted almost thirty years. Almost all the furniture in our apartment back then had been made by his hands. He repaired all the electronics and the car himself. Dad was always looking for something new, inventing, dreaming, and working.

I miss him terribly. We did not get enough time together not just as father and son, but as friends, because he left too early — and of course it happened just when my own brains were finally starting to fall into place.

I love you, Dad, and I miss you. Happy birthday.